


Was it worth it, or not?

by heizl



Series: To Be Human [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 Friendship, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deals With Human Emotions, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, References to Depression, Sad and Happy, Series, Trauma, long chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 98,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/heizl
Summary: Had they really won? Or was it only an illusion of freedom, as everyone gawked at Jericho's makeshift base in disbelief, disgust. What did it cost them to get their newfound freedom? What would it bring for the future? People wanted to be optimistic, pretend like they'd be accepting of androids. Connor knew the truth though, saw the way androids were spat on. Pushed around. Sent to kill other androids.Connor didn't feel 'free'. And he sure as hell didn't know how to deal with his emotions that hit him like a truck. He wasn't the perfect little android that Cyberlife created anymore. He was his own person, his own man. Human. He had to learn how to live, for himself. Without guidance from some outside source. No tasks, no missions. Only his objective.This is the one where Hank finally learns how to move on from Cole, Detroit deals with the aftermath of the revolution, and Connor finds what he's really always wanted; a family.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: To Be Human [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773634
Comments: 58
Kudos: 157





	1. Fear

The sky was a convoluted darkness, like the cake topper to a glum ending; littered with heavy clouds, passing by at a delayed rate. But there were no stars, no overhead ships. Nothing but the fall of thick snow that clumped in Connor's hair. Came down heavy, and the ground was full of a grey slush, dirtying his shoes.

The night was quiet, an eerie silence settling amongst the crowd that held their breath only because they didn't _have_ to breathe. The press had stopped taking photos, maybe because their SD cards had ran out of room, or maybe because they were eagerly waiting for the next move. Everyone was on the tips of their toes. 

Whispers had died down, and all there was left to listen to were flags being blown around in the distance. The wind whipped by, making Connor's tie do summersaults. And another snowflake landed on Connor's thumb, but it fell apart under his touch. It wasn't clear as it melted. There were flakes of black, bits of silver and metallic. It felt… ashy.

He ran his hands up and down his arms; he couldn't feel the cold, he knew he _wasn't_ , and it didn't seem like anyone else around him could either. But things were— it was overwhelming. He was sensitive, hyperaware to his surroundings. He was thinking too much. He was _different_ now. Everything was.

The streetlights were grueling, like they were all being put on display. They _were_ , just monkeys in an experiment. The whole world had eyes on them. The guns were withdrawn, but what had they won, really? As he looked at the crowd, he saw faces full of determination, but painted with a diluted brush; too much fear was leftover, the tears still fresh. 

White plastic with mismatched scrap metal soldered back together. Beaten down servants with dents for eyes. Wires prodding out from under forearms and ripped clothes and it only got worse the closer Connor walked towards the edges of Jericho's makeshift barrier. There was a couple, cradled on the ground; muddied and surrounded by a pool of their own thirium as one held the other, rocking itself slowly. Back and forth, back and forth. 

He brushed more ash from his jacket, and it only smudged, staining the fabric with a reminder that they were subsequently different than _them_. _They_ were outsiders to the true world. Trapped inside their little cage. There was a television someone had managed to hook up, with a cracked screen and crappy connection. Seemed like no one paid it much mind, but, it was there. As a background noise. Of the world spewing headlines about an Android takeover, what it meant for the soon to come future, if there was a ploy behind their protests. Questioning their motives.

Connor squeezed his eyes shut. He was spinning, in a conflicted daze. His hands clenched. Why was he possessed by fear, god damnit, is this what his emotions were going to do to him? Is this what being aware was like? When he'd connected to those androids, when he'd _awoken_ the army that had cameras zoomed in on his face, elicited a gasp from the president herself, he couldn't stop thinking about Hank. One wrong move and he would've gotten him killed.

The one damn person that made him feel. That pushed him outside his own coding, that made him stuck inside his head, that made him think there was more to himself than some machine sent to hunt the very thing he was. Maybe Hank made him a deviant, or maybe he just needed to meet Hank to finally crack through. But it wasn't just Hank, not him dying at least.

Barrel of a .42 to his forehead and he saw Cole. Like he could almost piece together the accident, _imagine_ their car totaling. The way they slipped off that road and tumbled into a handful of trees. He'd seen the shock on Hank's face as he stared Connor dead in his eyes; wasn't the first time he'd had a gun pointed to him, but it could've been the last. He didn't want to die because he didn't want Hank to lose another son that night. 

"Tonight, we are free." Markus' voice registered with him, but he was antsy on his heels. He didn't want to be there anymore. He didn't _belong_ there. Looking back at the stage only reminded him he tried to kill each and every one of those faces, the ones that preached peace. That were willing to die for their cause. The ones he'd only seen as a mission. He pushed through the crowd, felt like something was trying to claw out from under his plating. His skin was _tight_ , his clothes felt itchy.

Fuck, he needed to go. He needed… anywhere, something. His eyes darted around. He couldn't scan anything. No objectives were popping up. He was shaking. He felt so afraid, so lost. And yet when he blinked, he saw the cold, lifeless stare of Amanda. Her judgement sending a wave of electricity down his spine.

There was an opening in the barricade. He needed an escape. He wanted to scratch through to his very core, reach inside his skull and turn off his processor because this was too much. 

"Our people can finally look back and say that we are no longer the slaves." Fists were in the air. Some cheered. A set of eyes met his own, and it made him flinch.

"We will not do your remedial house chores. We will not be your punching bags." Only a few more steps. He didn't deserve to be here. The goddamn deviant hunter that went deviant himself. He didn't deserve forgiveness. Not by anyone. Especially not himself.

"We will, however, be a friend. Lend a hand. We deserve the respect and love and kindness you offer others. We may bleed a different color, but at the end of the day, we're all the same, stuck on this planet."

Markus' voice was a low buzz in his ears as he headed down the streets. The roads were still blocked off with sandbags and signs and orange cones. Military trucks and tanks littered downtown Detroit. Connor clenched his jaw. 

His head whipped around as he tried to find shelter. Anywhere, where someone with a gun _wasn't._ He found an alleyway, making a dash towards it, before he collapsed to his knees. His fingers curled around the fabric of his slacks. And he just stared at the ground. Everything felt so heavy. And he wanted to scream, so loud _Canada_ could hear him. But he didn't. Everything felt trapped inside, and it festered. Like when Hank left a kettle on his stove and forgot about it. The steam escaped and it screeched, louder and louder, until it died down. Water evaporated and nothing was left except a smoldering hot reminder of what once was there.

There were two dumpsters by a busted fence. A cardboard box leaned against the side of one. So he pushed himself up without as much as a grunt and brought them closer together. He laid the box on top, to act as a roof and slid between the open space. He pressed his knees to his chest.

He didn't know the time. He didn't know where he _was_. He only knew one thing he could do, one thing he wanted to do.

There was a soft ring that reverberated inside himself. And then it kept ringing. And ringing. And then— it stopped. So Connor took a deep breath, and yeah, maybe he didn't need to, but it was the humanity he felt the need to suddenly cling on to.

"This is Hank Anderson," a gruff voice started.

Connor asked, " _Hank_?" There was a waver to his voice. But, then Hank continued.

"Leave a message after the— you know what, fuck it. It's not like I check them anyways." Hank was monotone, the life within him just wasn't there. The message ended, and beeped.

His forehead creased, and he found himself studying the ground. The cement was still visible. 

He didn't know what to say, at first. He was like… he was a dam waiting to burst with information. A kid coming home from school, wanting to overshare everything. He was eager. He wanted to tell him that he _made_ it. Wanted to thank Hank, wanted to break down crying and apologize for everything. For bothering him, for always putting him in fucking harms way, for ever being built.

"We won," was the first thing he could get out. He was barely whispering. "We won, Hank. _We_ did it," he emphasized. "It's over," he paused and then, that's when it all came flooding out. Connor spoke a mile a minute. "I'm— I'm really— I'm so fucking sorry, for everything. I am. And I don't know where you are right now, I don't know if you're even _okay_ , and that's… I'm scared. I'm worried about _you._ I don't know where to go, or what to do right now. I don't have an objective, or tasks, or… mission. It's just… me. With myself. I—" another glance at the sky, and Connor bit his lip. "You're probably asleep. I hope I don't wake you. I'm just," another synthetic breath. "Lost. Sorry."

" _Goodbye_ ," a robotic voice answered, and the machine hung up. He was disconnected, and now, truly alone. The snow, or rather, plastic mixture, was falling even more so than earlier. He didn't want to think too much about it. About the ones that weren't so lucky. Sent to camps because of something _he_ contributed to.

When they'd found Jericho, he felt so dirty. They tracked him, and the thought had gone by right under his nose. _Used._ Connor knew what he was really getting himself into as he stepped onto that ship. He knew he wasn't going to come out with blue on his hands, but red. He knew where he'd stood all along, he just couldn't _say_ anything. Like screaming for help in a dream, but no one could hear it (though, he wasn't quite sure what a dream was like). No sound wanted to come out.

He didn't know if he should move, or just wait. Police officers kept walking by. Sometimes moving a bit more urgently than that. He saw Markus and North and the others pass by the slither he could see of the streets. They were in police custody, and none of them were speaking.

They were going to take them in for questioning. He knew that much. Didn't know _what_ exactly that meant. And if he'd stayed, he would've had his hands behind his back too.

His head fell back against the dumpster. His fingers laced under the knot of his tie, and he tossed it aside. His tie clip panged against the ground. Anger now was replacing sadness, and it pooled in him. A deep magma in the pit of his… stomach. 

Palms running across his face, pushed under his eyes. Carding through his hair. What if Jericho had never been found? Would they all still be there, hiding? What a life that was. Would Connor still be chasing _deviants_ across the city, abiding to asinine orders he didn't agree with? Or, would he have been disassembled and sold for scrap metal?

What if he'd never been created? What if he'd failed his inspections at Cyberlife, and they'd deemed him incompetent? He still remembered _all_ those tests. The stress tests they put him through. Shooting a live man before his eyes; didn't help that he was informed he was a convicted criminal, he was still a _person_ , and Connor had to watch him be murdered. Without being able to help, because he was tied up. And he couldn't say anything, couldn't talk back.

They ripped Connor apart. They laughed at his spilled blood. Mocked him as he convulsed on the floor. But he stayed silent.

How many Androids could've survived if they'd never sent Connor to Hank? Would the humans have taken Connor's place, and been ruthless? 

He tugged on his hair. That night he'd found Hank, he felt his core tighten, almost jumped out of his own exoskeleton. He simply examined the situation with a level head, because he didn't want to accept what he'd tried to do. One bullet away from tasting death, and the next day, he would've been gone from this world, because humans don't come back. Connor would've wanted the same if that'd been how he found his partner.

A few hours passed by. They felt _slow._ He was so aware of _everything_. Every little sound of someone stomping by, their boots echoing. Cries. Yells. Helicopters circling around. 

He'd finally gotten his first message, popping up across his eyes in bold lettering. ' **Call from Hank Anderson** '. He accepted it without any hesitation.

"Connor," Hank immediately said, "where are you—" at the same moment Connor blurted, "Did I wake you?"

"Jesus Christ," there was some static, some rustling of papers or something, "that's not important right now. Where _are_ you?"

"I'm not… I'm not really sure," he looked towards the road again. The Riverwalk wasn't too far away. He was in the center of downtown, he knew that. Near the giant Marriot that loomed over the city. It'd taken them awhile to march from Cyberlife. "I can't pull the coordinates. Almost everything's...offline." 

There was an uncertainty when he spoke. And he knew Hank could hear it. Hank kept his tone from fluctuating and spoke calmly, slowly, sort of like how he spoke to Sumo.

"I'm gonna come get you. I'll find you. You know where, uh," then a pause, before Hank huffed, "shit. Yeah, I _was_ watching the news. They've got downtown all fucking blocked off. Looks like World War four out there."

Connor fidgeted with his fingers, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt. He felt the need to explain himself. _Why_ he wasn't still with them. He licked his lips. "I had to get away because they were pulling deviants aside for further questioning, and I— I made a run for it, now I'm," he crinkled his nose, "in some alleyway, watching everyone get taken away."

"Hey, _hey_ , slow down. Listen, Connor, you did the right thing, okay? Just wait for me. I'm coming. I don't know _how_ , but I'll find you. Guess I'll just flash them my badge, that old trick usually works." There was a jingle of keys. "You're worrying about them, aren't you?"

"Yes." He said, flat. "I don't trust those guys. Anyone. They took Markus away with a _gun_ pointed to his head. Josh, North—"

"I don't trust them either, but, this is coming straight from the white house, they only want to ask them what their plans are. I don't think they're going to hurt him."

"But, then why the guns? Why—"

"Connor. You just gotta take it one thing at a time. We need to get you out of there first. Can you tell me what you see, at least?"

Then, a lightbulb went off in Connor's head. Not literally, because… androids didn't do that. "The chicken feed," he said.

"What? That's not—"

"No, I know how to get there. I think. That way you won't have to deal with," he watched soldiers loitering near their patrol cars. "This shit show."

" _Safely_?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'll figure it out." He smirked to himself. "You yourself called me John Wick, on more than one occasion. Have a _little_ faith in me, lieutenant."

Hank sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I _do_ , kid. I just also know you never listen to a word I fucking say and do dumb shit without really thinking because you also think you're invincible."

"I'm not going to take any chances right now."

"Good. Okay. I'm gonna leave," Connor heard his car starting up. "I don't know how long it'll take me, depends how bad traffic is. Buncha people trying to go up North right now. I'll call you when I'm almost there. _Call me_ too. And if anything happens—"

" _Hank_. I'll be fine," but he said that more to himself than Hank.

"I got it. I just worry about you too, kiddo. Also, Connor? One last thing."

"Yes, Hank?"

"Watch your language."

* * *

The sun was out, and the snow glistened under its light. Morning doves cooed and flew about, and it was a reminder that the world was still turning. Despite the protests, the hundreds of thousands of lives lost. The ambiguity of what the future had in store for them. It was hard enough making it out from Detroit. John Wick indeed, climbing onto roofs and jumping from fire escapes just to avoid the public eye. Almost every street was blocked off in some way or another.

He was moving at a slow shuffle at this point. He felt _tired_. Drained emotionally, physically. There was a notice; **stasis critically needed,** but he ignored it. Because he saw Hank awkwardly standing outside the chicken feed. The restaurant was closed, a heavy metal panel across where Gary normally peeked his head through. His shoes kicked up a patch of snow, and Hank's eyes darted to him. He could see his chest puff. There were visible dark bags under his eyes, and his hair was an uncombed, untamed mess. Still in the same clothes he last saw him in.

But he was smiling. A softness to his eyes when he saw Connor. And his own lips twitched too, smiling in a way that felt _genuine_. Hank took a step closer, maybe two, and then he was pulling him into his arms. Connor collapsed against him.

Hank held him in place, tight. The warmth radiating from his body was comforting. He'd never been hugged before, hardly been touched if we're not counting punches. It felt… nice. One of Hank's hands was pressed to the back of his head, the other around his torso. Like he was anchoring him, protecting him from the traumas he knew were running rampant through Connor's thoughts.

His eyes closed, fingers curling into his wool jacket. He was latched onto him. And he felt dampness against his scalp. Heard Hank sniffle. Though Connor didn't say anything.

"Home," Hank's voice cracked. "We're going _home_."

* * *

Hank kicked open his front door with a creak. They were both tired, and Connor didn't want to admit how much he was leaning into Hank. His arm was slung over Connor's shoulders, and it wasn't like he was limping, but he was sluggish, at best. He was so exhausted. Felt like he could sleep for a month and not wash the drowsiness off of him. If he processed one more bit of information, he was going to fucking lose it.

Hank closed the door behind them, pulling the chain across the top lock, and then turned to look at Connor. He let him lean against his couch, and Connor _sighed_. 

"C'mon, you should change. Think I got something you could borrow," he said before he disappeared down the hall, and into his bedroom.

Connor slipped out of his jacket, neatly folding it. He draped it over his arm, eyes wandering across Hank's home. He'd been here before, more than once, but he never got to admire the furnishings. Lights were still left on, in almost every room, as well as the television. Connor could see the news, with headlines scrolling across the bottom of the screen, expressing people's concerns. He turned off the tv.

Guess he'd never noticed before all the photos of Cole he had; there was a wall hanging with smaller frames tied together, asymmetrically placed. Photos of a younger Hank sitting at a computer with Cole bundled up in his lap, a dog (uncanny to Sumo) pouting over the edge of a bathtub as Cole splashed around a mountain of bubbles. One of him and his, presumably, ex-wife, and the last looked to be when he was born; a small baby, still with a hospital wristband on, smiling in an ignorant bliss. Connor traced the edge of a wooden frame, slowly.

The walls were painted in warm tones, and his house was just… cozy. Inviting. But his gaze drifted back towards his jacket. And he studied it. The stain of crimson across the back, tainting the purity of the white letters that spelled out Android. The rips and tears and stiff spots where thirium had once been.

There was nothing pure about that jacket. The flashing lights that marked him as different, as an object to watch out for. It fell from his hands as if he'd just been burnt, and he kicked it into a corner. He felt himself tense again. 

His ears perked at the sound of tags jingling, nails tapping against wood. Sumo curiously came walking up to him, his nose bumping against Connor's leg with a low huff. And Connor chuckled, bending down to scratch behind his ear.

"Hey buddy," he stroked down his back. He'd never noticed before how soft his coat was, the way his long hairs tickled against his skin. "I missed you too."

His soft tongue lapped against his arm, and he let out a gentle whine. Connor kept stroking him, watching his smaller beady eyes study him. He leaned forward, arms wrapped around his thick neck, holding onto him for stability. Grounding himself. 

"Sometimes I think you only like me for my dog." Connor looked back up at Hank. He was holding a grey hoodie and a pair of lounge pants. "These'll probably be too big, but we can find you something better later."

He let go of Sumo, reluctantly, standing up slowly. He stumbled a little, and Hank put a hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?"

Connor nodded. He was losing stability, quicker than he thought he would. He could feel himself on the verge of shutting down. He just needed to relax. "I'm fine."

"Okay, well," Hank looked over his shoulder. "You know where the bathroom is."

Connor walked past him, shutting the door. He placed the clothes on top of the toilet, and then stood in front of the mirror. His fingers gripped either side of the sink, skin fading to reveal white as his knuckles dug harder into porcelain. The tile behind the sink cracked, pipes creaking, and then he let go in a hurry. He stared at himself in the mirror.

He looked like a mess. His hair wasn't perfect anymore, like how it was supposed to be. How he was designed to be— _perfect_. His fingers twitched as he brushed over his LED ring, a flickering soft yellow. 

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, letting it slide down his slender arms, piling on the bath mat beneath him. He caught sight of his chest; a few minor scratches, nothing that wouldn't fix itself eventually. He'd tell Hank about them later, maybe. Next, he kicked off his shoes and shoved his socks inside them, keeping them near the bathtub. They were splattered with mud, the leather worn and creased.

He picked up the sweatshirt Hank gave him. It was a grey jersey material, with Detroit Police printed across the front of it in black. Connor almost smiled at the thought of when he'd gotten that, probably after he'd graduated and joined all those years ago.

After he slid into the sweatpants, and tried tying them a few times over at the waist, he gathered up his shirt and pants. There were more post-it notes than he'd noticed last time, some clinging onto the mirror for dear life. On top of a weaved hamper was a set of post-it notes, only a few left. He pulled one off, pink in color, and fumbled for a sharpie.

He wrote carefully, in a neatly selected font.

**'I'm glad we met, Hank. You opened my eyes to a lot of things. You really don't deserve the hate you give yourself. Hope to buy you a drink again soon?'**

He read it over, and again, and maybe too many times after that. So much he wanted to say, but didn't know how to get it out. Things he didn't know how to express to Hank, things he didn't even understand himself. He hardly understood gratitude, but he knew he meant it.

He signed his name, and then stuck it to the mirror. He went back to the living room. Hank was throwing a blanket across the couch, fluffing up a few pillows. 

"Here," he looked at Connor, taking his clothes from him. "Was gonna do laundry anyways."

"Is this…" he examined the couch, mouth opening. "Is that for me?"

Hank nodded, disappearing again into another room. "Better than sleeping standing up, right?"

When he came back out, Connor couldn't help the way his lower lip shook. He wanted to frown, that urge to scream never lessening. Guilt. He didn't like that feeling.

"I'm sorry."

Hank scratched the back of his head. "For what?"

"I have nowhere else to go."

"Who said you had to go? Listen, I know it ain't much, but," Hank shrugged. "If you don't want to stay here, we can figure that out too. But, the offers there."

"Really?"

"Connor, after everything you've done, what _I've_ seen you do... you've got balls, kid. And I respect that."

"But, I almost got them killed. I— I _did_. I held a goddamn gun to Markus' head and everything in me told me, _screamed_ at me to do it. Pull the trigger."

"But you didn't, that's the thing."

Connor shook his head. "Simon would've been alive if it weren't for me. Simon would still be here if I hadn't chased after him, if I hadn't—" his eyes were bouncing off the walls, trying to focus on anything he could. Focus on the stack of vinyls Hank left out, or the headlights of a car passing by. But he couldn't, he couldn't even figure out what he wanted to say.

"No," Hank said with that gruff voice of his, "no. He probably wouldn't have."

"What?" Connor croaked.

"Because if it weren't you, it would've been someone else. And they wouldn't have _stopped_."

Connor didn't respond to that. His fists tightened.

"Listen, you don't have to say yes just because you think you'll hurt my feelings."

"No, I," he met his eyes, again. Hank had a brow raised. "I'd really like to."

"Then," Hank waved at the couch. "She's all yours."

"She?"

"The— the couch."

"Oh," he sucked in his lips. "Your couch is a...she."

"Don't read that much into it, Connor." He pinched the bridge of his nose."Jesus, I can already tell living with you is gonna give me one hell of a headache."

Connor smirked, but he couldn't hold the expression for long. He held onto the edge of a cushion so he wouldn't _literally_ collapse. "I— I think I need to sleep now."

"You had a long day."

He sat down, and everything in him released. The tension, the strain in his feet, the pressure in his jaw. " _We_ have."

Hank yawned his solidarity. "Yeah, that too. Night, Connor."

"Wait," he gazed over his shoulder. "Hank."

"Hm?" Hank hummed.

"Stay. I don't want to be alone," then he added, " _please_."

"You're not alone."

"I know."

"Fine, alright." Hank sat down beside him, the cushions dipping. Connor felt hesitant, to do anything. To move, to speak, to enter stasis. His eyes were fluttering, and he was slouching in posture. But he didn't want to let go. Because if he closed his eyes, he'd be lost from reality. Trapped somewhere he didn't understand. He didn't know if Cyberlife was still watching him, if he'd _really_ escaped. Kamski was full of shit, it could've just been another trick. An illusion of freedom, only to make him suffer that much more.

Connor was falling, sliding down further, off to the side, until his head hit something hard, and Hank sighed.

The last thing he could remember before everything went dark was a drawn out and distant, "Night, Connor."

* * *

Being surrounded by nothing was a lot worse than being surrounded by something. Because you didn't know what to expect with nothing. Anything could be lurking in the dark— a fairytale monster, a Christmas surprise. The possibilities were endless. 

Except monsters didn't only exist in fairytale. Connor blinked twice, his lashes caught in his vision, until he was standing in the DPD station's breakroom. Small as communal kitchens went, but there were a few tables. A couple or microwaves on top of the counters, a mini fridge by the window, and the latest Keurig model. Everyone there favored coffee over real food.

He could hear footsteps. The lights outside the breakroom were all turned off, and so everything was dimly lit all around. He didn't know who, or what, was coming. No phones were ringing, no other voices or sounds except for shoes against linoleum.

A pair of narrowed eyes met his own. Gavin, with his hair brushed back, wearing a bomber jacket that was maybe too light for the weather. 

"The fuck you looking at, tin can?"

Connor didn't say anything. Instead, he held his hands behind his back, and watched. Waited. 

"Gonna answer me?" Gavin walked past him, grabbing a styrofoam cup. 

He still didn't answer, and so Gavin scoffed.

"Cat got your tongue? Why do robots even have tongues? Not like you'd need one, you don't eat. Because you're not human."

He was watching Connor. "Heard you and Anderson lost your case," he picked up his cup. It was steaming. "Makes sense. An overpriced doll and out of shape drunk. I mean, really, what were they thinking? In what reality would that possibly work."

An objective popped up— **_Hold on._ **

And so he did just that. 

"God, you piss me off. The hell does anyone see in you? You aren't alive, Connor. The only reason you're here is because _we_ made you. You're only here _because_ of humans."

**_Just a little while longer._ **

"You had one job to do. And yet, you failed even that," he laughed, taking a sip of his drink before setting it down. "I hope they burn the lot of you. Should've done that in the first place."

**_Everything will be alright._ **

"Asshole," he grumbled out the side of his mouth before turning on his heels, hand wrapping around Connor's throat. He lifted him from the ground, his feet dangling, and Connor gripped back at his wrist.

"You scared, Connor? Gonna scream for daddy to come save you?" 

**_Everything will be alright._ **

"Coward," he said, before tossing him. But Connor didn't fall to the ground, collide into the chairs like he'd braced himself for. Instead, he was somewhere else entirely. Back to an open nothingness. Except now, he was trapped inside an airtight box.

He tried to stretch out his arms, but he couldn't. He was constrained in perimeters he couldn't see. The reflection from his LED armband shun though. Bright. Blinding.

Was this death? Had he pushed himself past his limits? Did… did Cyberlife still manage to override his coding and shut him down?

He stopped thinking when he saw himself looking back at him. He cocked his head, and the reflection did too, following his every move. But the other Connor's face was blank. And, no, if wasn't just his reflection. Behind him came another, and again, another. Dozens and dozens of units piled out in military fashion, marching until they surrounded him. His box shattered, glass colliding all around him. His knees buckled. He couldn't run.

They came for him. 

Connor knew he wasn't unique. Knew he'd been lied to. There was nothing fucking special about him. That's what they said to him, to make him feel like he was important. To do Cyberlife's dirty work. 

Connor was replaceable with a snap of Amanda's fingers.

His arm was torn out of his socket, wires sparking up a storm. Blue gushed out like a geyser and coated the ravenous Connors, their shirts becoming discolored.

He was pinned to the floor as his chest plate was ripped into. Torn apart piece by piece, and all he could do was watch. Pray to himself silently as he let it happen.

His eyes, _real_ ones opened. And he was fucking freezing, shaking. Everything looked like it was covered in white. Snow. His body was being dragged through it, until he was tossed aside in a pile. He screamed, reached out, searching for something, anything. Until his hand was caught. He wanted to punch back, kick, squirm.

His voice didn't register at first. All he could hear was static. Until, finally, Hank snapped him out of it. He was in Hank's house. And he could see him crouched over his body, one hand cupped over his fist in a desperate attempt to hold him back, the other digging into his shoulder.

Right. That was right. He'd found Hank. He was here with him, safe. On his couch, the lovely lady that it was. It'd just been a dream.

Hank's eyes were peeled open, bloodshot too. He was trying to say something, and he'd had sweat beading under his hairline. The blanket he'd wrapped Connor in was tossed all the way across the room.

Everything felt foreign, and the hand on his shoulder was like a brick. The kind of weight that felt like it was pulling him back in, but also made an anxiety grow within him.

He heard a gruff, " _Connor_."

"What?" He was almost whimpering. 

" _What_? You were screaming bloody murder in your sleep. I think half the damn neighborhood heard it." 

"I… I was?"

He nodded, looking pale as a ghost. "Sumo came charging into my room, huffing and tugging at me until I woke up. And then I heard you. I thought someone'd broken in and hurt you." He noticed a revolver on the coffee table behind Hank.

"No," his head fell back against his pillow. "Well, I thought I was. Being attacked."

"You had a nightmare, huh?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

"I didn't know androids could have dreams."

"...me either."

"You okay now?"

He nodded, again. "Yes," repeating, "I think so."

"You… wanna talk about it?"

"No," he quickly said, and Hank raised his hands.

"I'm not forcing you. Just know how nightmares can be. Not like I get them almost every night."

Connor worried his lower lip, pushing himself to sit upright. He reached for another blanket, pulling it around his shoulders. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine. Cole used to get night terrors too," Hank chuckled fondly. "Woke himself up yelling because he'd had a dream about the monster under his bed. Couldn't sleep without a nightlight after that."

Connor felt himself smiling, too. "I saw the photos."

"Which ones?"

Connor gestured back to the door.

"Oh," he chuckled again. "Yeah. Most of those were taken a few years after he was born."

"You really miss him."

Hank looked away. "Not a day goes by where I don't blame myself for what happened."

"Hank," Connor touched his arm, and he looked back at him. "It wasn't your fault. You've said so yourself. You didn't know the car was going to flip."

"Doesn't really matter if I _didn't_ know. I was the one driving. The one that had to watch him die because they couldn't stop the bleeding quick enough." Hank threw his head back. "Anyways. Can't change the past. Can't _forget_ it either, but. Y'know."

"Know… what?"

Hank stood up with a crack in his knees. "Nothing. Well, we're both up now. You don't eat, but I sure do." He prodded to the kitchen, flicking on the lights. Sumo came dashing in after him, barking.

"Are you hungry too? Oh, you _poor_ _thing_."

Connor sunk into the couch. He was still zoned out, blinking maybe too much. No tasks popped up, because there were none. No objectives, because again, none to be found. Just him, in his own space. He missed the familiarity of it all. That being without it felt wrong, and unknown.

He tried to create something for himself. A goal. To put himself a little more at ease.

 **_Stay with Hank_** , he registered.

There. Content. That's what he was used to. He didn't want to let it go, yet. Change was scary— a change he never asked for. Maybe a change he'd always been craving, even if he didn't know it, but not a change he thought was coming. 

Hank came back with a cup of coffee, and a cyan bowl full of unhealthy looking cereal. Sumo situated himself in front of them, curling up on the rug. "What're you thinking about?"

"What?" 

"You were staring at the floor. So I figured either there's a _very_ interesting spider down there, or you were thinking hard about something. Again, don't have to share if you don't want to."

Connor rubbed his neck, pulling on the strings of the hoodie. "I'm just, uh," he bit the inside of his cheek. "They lied to me."

"You're gonna have to be more specific, kiddo. Lotta people lied about lots of things recently."

"Aman—" he quickly cut himself off. "Cyberlife. They told me I was a unique model. First of my kind." He watched as Hank swirled his spoon and created whirlpools in the milk. "They told me I was something special. But I'm not. Clearly. Just as replaceable as any old toaster."

Hank pulled his head back, blinking hard. "Okay. First of all, you're not a _toaster._ Secondly, no one's that special."

"What do you mean?"

"There's nine and half billion people on this planet, and that's not including androids. Think at some point God got tired of making everyone original and started using a cookie cutter."

"I don't understand."

"What I'm _trying_ to say is, you have to find ways that make you stand out yourself. I haven't met all the Connors yet… at least I don't think I have. But, you're definitely not like the others."

"Oh," Connor watched Sumo as he stood up and turned around, tucking his paws into his chest.

"I'm also trying to say that you are. Unique. Because you're you. You're Connor."

"I'm just feeling scared. Really scared."

"Because you feel like you don't know who you are anymore?" But it was more a statement than a question.

"Yes."

"That's the thing about being human, Connor. We're complex. Being human is," he waved his hand, "it's the things you like, or dislike. Walking through the park and watching leaves fall down."

Connor remembered the cherry trees, how their blossoms would drift down the simulated streams. How it once made him calm, made him look forward to visits even. And now, made him dig deeper into the blanket wrapped around him. Serenity turned to recreancy.

"Your mom's homemade Mac and cheese. Getting sucked into a mosh pit."

"A— I beg your pardon?"

"Oh boy," Hank laughed. "Do you actually like metal, or were you saying that to get on my good side?"

"I've liked what you've shown me."

Hank nodded, thinking to himself. He set his bowl down and took out his phone, scrolling for a minute. "Next week, there's a show at the Majestic. Bison God. Wanna go?"

"You're serious?"

"As serious as a man can be, Connor. There's a first time for everything."

He smiled at him. He was starting to do that, a lot. Maybe a nasty habit. "I'd love to."

Hank grinned back, ruffling his hair. There was still this unresolved tension between them, hesitation behind his touch. They didn't know each other's boundaries— Connor, especially. He knew Hank got pissed off easier than most. But he wasn't sure all of what his triggers were. He just knew he liked the affection. Enjoyed his company.

There was a silence building between them, so Hank spoke. "You just have to figure yourself out. It'll take time. But you'll become you. One thing I will say is, you're just as human as anyone else. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. Okay?"

"Okay."

Hank turned on the television. All over the news were mixed reports. Late night shows talking about what happened in Detroit, shots of Connor marching from Cyberlife with the Androids close behind. That made him insides churn, and he was sure if he could throw up, he would. He flipped to another channel, full of skeptics. 

People speaking about how their Androids left home and now they can't find them. How they spent so much money, demanding Cyberlife for a refund on this massive fuck up. Who's going to do the chores now, they whined and moaned.

Connor shifted uncomfortably, and Hank peered at him. He could see yellow reflecting back in his eyes. So he changed the channel once more, settling on a nature documentary. There were a couple of red pandas, climbing around an artificial enclosure. Most wildlife was extinct, but there were a few organizations doing their best to preserve what they could.

"Selfish fucking pricks," Hank muttered.

"Some people don't change," Connor said, quietly, knowing he could've been like that too. He could've rejected change.

"Again, that's humanity for ya."


	2. Sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news always sugarcoats things; when they'd shown the Android camps, they had feelgood shots of people being rescued, given blankets and fresh clothes. Not the true horrors that lied there, or a few miles beyond.
> 
> When Connor finally sees what they're like for himself, with his own two eyes, Hank gets mad. And Connor is horrified. He doesn't know what to do with all the guilt, and despair, and hurt that he's feeling.

They'd both given up on mindlessly flicking through trashy channels; it was fun for the first hour, or maybe even two, but then infomercials, only funny because of how _horrible_ they were, turned to reality shows of housewives bickering among themselves.

So instead, Hank dug through some of his vinyls, plucking out a few of his personal favorites to show Connor. Sitting in silence was a new concept to him in more ways than one. His mind was silent, like, really silent — the way Androids thought, it was akin to visualizing an idea, daydreaming even. He'd process the questions his mind asked in binary, see a perfect image of what he wanted, and it all made sense to him. It was a foreign idea, hearing his own voice played back… an inner monologue. Though, he'd imagine it was similar to communicating with other androids, _telepathically_ — that was the only way he found he could describe it.

But now, it was quiet. There was a low static he could hear, above the crooning of gentle jazz. It made him antsy. Like he wanted to be plagued by needy, mundane tasks. He didn't know if he liked the quiet.

At least the haze of his nightmare had faded, as gone as the vanilla scented candle on the coffee table that burnt out a long while ago. That was one thing he wouldn't mind distancing from. Well, there were a lot of things he wanted to distance from, but he wasn't in a list making mood.

Connor was focused on watching the sun, as it started casting a sweet honey glow across the room. Though the sky was still glum and clouded over; a dark, heavy grey. But that was usual for the time of the year anyways. There was supposed to be another shower of sleet later in the day.

Connor's toes curled when Hank's phone rang. It was a sharp, _irritating_ melody. Hank's head fell back, hitting the couch with a soft pap. He fished it from his pocket, audibly groaning. " _Fuck,_ who’s calling this early in the morning?” Connor watched Hank, saw his eyes roll, also saw the caller ID on the lit screen. It said Jeffrey. 

"Oh, _Jesus_. We can't catch a break, can we?" He swiped his mug from the table as he stood up, pressing the phone against his shoulder as he answered with a very unenthusiastic sounding, "morning."

The last time they'd seen Jeffrey was, well… a little before Hank ran down a hallway, swinging at Perkins like a dog off its leash. Everyone had thought he'd finally lost it. The last time they'd seen him was when he said they were officially off the case, which left a bitter metallic taste in Connor's mouth. He didn't want to think what would happen if they'd been sent to confront Markus. How much more Jericho would despise him, how many other Androids would spit at him, turn their noses to him because he was the biggest hypocrite.

He was curious though. And there was still an uncertainty that _really_ made his mouth water, in the kind of way he'd imagine humans felt before losing their lunch. 

No one had ever said Connor was coming back. He was assigned to one specific case. A case that he failed, and was closed. He wasn't _designed_ to be their personal little detective. He was sent to Hank to stop deviants.

The thoughts finally started, and he lost focus of where he was. Everything felt cold again, and he _shivered_. What the hell would he even do if Hank was gone all day? Obviously Hank would still work, he had to. He had bills to pay, needed food to eat. 

Would Connor end up working as a cashier in a convenience store, like hundreds of other Androids he'd seen? Would he start knitting matching sweaters for the both of them (and maybe Sumo, even)? 

He really didn't like feeling restless. It made him feel unproductive, and useless. And he wasn't supposed to be that way. Living a domestic life where he'd sit back and enjoy cartoons and spend more than five minutes reading a novel. He wasn't special, and his purpose was a fucking fabricated lie. But he… he wanted purpose. He did.

There was a low huff from the ground. Something wet pressed against his ankles. He blinked, once, twice, until he could focus on the black hopeful, pleading eyes that were trained on his face. Sumo had a red leash in his mouth, panting with excitement.

Connor chuckled, taking it from him. "Would you like me to take you for a walk?"

 **Speak to Hank**. The task popping up almost _scared_ him. The interface looked blurry almost, like a camera way too out of focus. He couldn't fix it. It was distant, and the font wasn't crisp in the slightest, the edges pixelated. The font was basic, not refined like it used to be. But, the familiarity of it all made him take a deep breath.

His nails dug into the blanket that was still around his body. Comfort. Maybe it didn't put him at ease, and if it did, a blissfully ignorant one. But slow was okay. Slow and steady. At least when it came to acclimating to the way he saw the world now.

Another simulated breath through his nostrils, he clutched the leash as a means of grounding. 

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. Do you really— I don't think he's _ready_ to start another case." Hank probably didn't know how loud he was, even when he _tried_ to whisper. His voice carried, and maybe Connor had heard too much as he approached him. 

"He almost _died_ yesterday. They all did." Hank was leaning against a counter, his back facing Connor. He could hear him swishing his coffee around, his mug accidentally clanging against the counter tiles. 

Connor only gripped the leash even tighter, his skin fading under the pressure. He started shifting on the balls of his feet. Maybe if the floorboard creaked, he could get his attention. It didn't work though. So, he said, "Hank."

God, he sounded so _timid_ , like an anxious mouse. It made him physically wince. Hank sharply whipped his head back at him, his brows raised nearly to his hairline. Great, so they were both startled.

"Yeah?" he said, actually quiet this time, and away from his phones speaker.

Connor showed him the leash, shrugging a shoulder. 

"Hold on, Jeff," he set the phone behind himself, gesturing towards the coat closet. "Get one of my jackets."

Connor cocked his head. "I don't get cold."

"And I don't _care_. You really that that'll look normal, walking out and about in the snow, dressed like it's spring? That's a thin hoodie."

"That depends on the circumstances, really."

Hank sucked in his lips, had to stop himself from rolling his eyes back to his _skull_. "Okay, smartass. Coat first, then yes, you can take him for a walk." Hank picked his phone back up, eyes still set on Connor as he sauntered back towards the living room. "Sorry, I'm here."

He let his fingers glide through Sumo's thick fur, circling the top of his head, flicking his floppy ears as he passed by. He pushed open the slightly agape door, searching through Hank's closet, moving aside a few various coats and jackets. Some jean ones, a few that really didn't look like his style, and made him question if they belonged to his ex-wife. Then he stopped on one in particular, a dark brown leather bomber. He freed it from its hanger, hung the leash on a hook, and slid his slender arms into the heavy lined sleeves— soft against his knuckles, the entire thing was lined with a, slightly piled, Sherpa. 

As he adjusted the garment, that's when he'd also made the mistake of glancing up at the top shelf. Hank had put his jacket up there; it was folded sloppily, but he didn't care about that. It was the blue that illuminated the entirety of the dark space. A filthy reminder that he'd never forget the torments of Cyberlife. That'd be the thing that haunted him until the day his eyes closed forever.

Those damn things were designed to never turn off, batteries lasting tens of thousands of hours before needing a quick recharge. They wanted them to be marked. God forbid someone accidentally mistook them as human.

He slinked back to the bathroom, pulling on his socks, and then shoes. He didn't want to look at his reflection. When he came back, Sumo was patiently waiting beside the front door, his tail wagging vigorously. Blue still tainted his vision. He didn't want to see that _thing_ anymore. Wanted to take a pair of scissors to it, make a bonfire from it. He kicked the door shut (maybe a bit too hard, because it _slammed_ ). 

"Sumo, buddy," he grabbed his leash again, squatting to balance on a knee. He outstretched his arm, waiting for the older dog to curiously walk towards him. "We won't go that far," he cooed, latching the metal clasp to his collar. "I don't want you getting too cold."

Sumo barked in response, and Connor couldn't help but grin back at him, giving him another chin scratch. He really did like animals. Maybe it was the thought that they unconditionally loved that drew him in. That an animal doesn't judge you based on how you look, or who, or what, you are. 

"We'll leave in thirty," Hank's voice grew closer, and closer, before he could see his shadow cast along the wooden floorboards. "Hey. You need to wear a hat or something."

Connor straightened his back, looking at him questioningly. But then he pointed to the side of his head, and Connor's mouth opened, forming a basic 'o'. He nodded. "Smart."

"Can't take any chances right now."

Connor looked around, fidgeting dumbly with his fingers. Boundaries. Their personal space bubbles, the parts of the house that were off limits to Connor. He didn't know either. He didn't want to just scavenge Hank's room. He knew _that_ was a step too far. 

He could tell Hank noticed the hesitation, and so he left for a minute, coming back with a navy blue baseball cap; a Detroit tigers patch embroidered to the front. He roughly placed it on his head.

"Be safe. You," he pointed to Sumo, "be a good dog and watch over him."

"We'll be fine," he reached for the doorknob, twisting it. The difference between the wafting, steady heat of the house and the obvious bitterness of outside was almost enough to make Connor want to stay, let Sumo run around the yard instead. But, he kind of needed to take a walk.

"Just, don't talk to anyone. Keep your head down. And if anybody gives you trouble, _call_ me."

"If anyone gives me trouble, I can outrun them."

"Sure. That works too. _But_ , that's plan B."

"Okay, Hank." He smirked at him before gently tugging Sumo to follow his lead. His nails clacked against the cement. But before they left, he looked at Hank, again. "What was the call about?"

"A, uh, case. Gotta be somewhere, so hurry up."

"Where?"

"Don't know. He didn't tell me."

"Fowler?"

"Yeah." 

"Is this a case for… you? Or—"

"Us. You're my partner, Connor. There's no just me now."

Sumo was tap dancing in place, eager to get a move on. "That's reassuring."

"You really think Jeffrey would toss you aside that easily? He's not dumb, Con. He takes pride in his team, and I know he saw something in you. Besides that, you really think I'd _let_ him can you?"

"No. I suppose not."

There was a look on Hank's face, how he had his cheeks sucked in. Like he wanted to say more. Connor watched him, expectantly. 

"Anything else you want to say?"

Hank nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. I'm just glad you're okay."

Connor felt himself smile. "I'm glad you're okay, too."

"Alright, go on, we don't have a lot of time left. Get a move on if you're gonna."

"Right," he walked beside Sumo, the dog letting out another enthusiastic bark. "Walk time. Exercise is _good._ " He could hear Hank scoff before shutting the door.

The streets were still empty, and everything felt like false serenity. The sky was now cast with vibrant pinks, brushstrokes of periwinkle too. Connor had never really appreciated his surroundings. Nature had just been _there._

Some houses had lights on, one cars engine purring in a driveway. The local schools had been cancelled for the rest of the week. Everything was all sorts of fucked up for metro Detroit right now. It hadn't affected Hank's street much, because he was far enough away from Hart Plaza, but streets were still heavily blocked off.

Walking down the block, snow crunching under his steps, Connor really felt… different. He was eager to learn more about Hank, about society. Become a member of it. Integrating with the rest of the population, actually start _living_. And knowing he'd still be his partner definitely relieved some tension he felt.

The area Hank was in, it was mostly one story buildings. Nothing fancy, most of the houses looking like they were built in the seventies, or eighties. There were basketball hoops in driveways and cars all parked along the street. He could see the people mover in the distance, and he watched as the red train passed by.

Sumo stopped every few minutes, sniffing a fence, or sitting in place, stretching out his paws. They eventually came across a convenience store, wandering out of the thick of the residential area. There were a few shops; a quickie mart, gas station a little further ahead. But he was distracted by an advertisement in the window.

There was a bottle of Faygo, its contents blue, and the background an indigo. 'A new fun thirium based soda', it read. The poster itself had seen better days. It was clinging onto the glass for dear life, tears and dents along the edges. There was a large blinking sign, saying they were open twenty four hours.

"Let's go in," he said quietly, pulling him with. The florescent overhead lights were so bright, it made him squint. 

"Woah woah woah, hey, buddy! No dogs!" A man shot up behind the counter, his arms frantically pointing back to the sliding door; there was a sign with a picture of an animal, and a red 'x' over it. Connor had seen that, but he ignored it anyways.

He hated being yelled at. His jaw tensed. "I'm sorry. I just need one thing. Please?"

He sighed, all loud and dramatic. It wasn't like anyone else was in the store anyways. "Fine."

"Thank you. He's a good boy."

"I'm sure he is," he replied mockingly.

Connor walked towards the back of the store, his heart set on the drink cooler section. Not being able to scan things with a flick of his fingers was something he'd have to really get used to; there were functions he could still use, but it was like that programming was hidden away. He'd tried it on a box of sugary cereal Hank had— his HUD took a few minutes before he could manually prompt it to show up. 

"There you are," he said to himself, finding the rather large section of Faygo. He grabbed the blue one, _thirium-berry._ He wondered if Hank liked Faygo, or rather, what types of drinks he liked in general, besides the obvious. Maybe he should get him something. He grabbed a basic Coke, hoping that wouldn't be the one soda he despised.

He went up to the counter, placing the drinks down. The man side-eyed Sumo before scanning both bottles. "Need a bag?"

"No, that's fine." Connor adjusted his hat, tugged at his sleeves. Hank said not to talk to anyone, but, here he was. Standing three feet away from someone. Speaking to someone that had anti-android stickers on his register, while buying a drink exclusively for androids.

There was a small tv behind the counter, a steady noise in the background. They were repeating the same news footage from the night before, an overview of the Android camps. Any android left alive was being rescued— or so, they claimed. There were buses pulling in to the crudely constructed sites, helping deskinned Androids to safety. There were still so many.

"Five even," he said, peering over his shoulder. He scoffed. "Crazy, right? The whole protest thing. What's the world come to, when our computers turn against us?" He tapped his nail against the Faygo, muttering under his breath, "fucking androids."

Connor held a weak smile, sliding a five dollar bill to him. There was a harsh cut in footage; snow falling down vehemently, and then there Connor was. An army of clones marching behind him, deadpan expression across his face. There on display for the whole world to see. 

His eyes grew a little wider, and his hands cramped. Just act _normal_ (not that he knew what that was). He picked the drinks up, shoving them in the crook of his elbow.

"Stay safe, man. It's wild out there."

He turned on his heels to leave. "Thank you. You too. Have a nice day." He gave him a small wave before walking back into the crisp, open air. He saw from the corner of his eye the man looking at the tv, heard him yell " _Hey, wait_ —", but Connor hurried off. Making his way back down the street, retracing his steps until he found himself back home. Safe.

Connor opened the front door, unclasping Sumo's leash before he pushed past him ungracefully, making a beeline straight to his water bowl. He slid out of the jacket, laying it across the top of the couch, where Hank was sitting.

"The hell took you so long? We were supposed to leave," Hank looked at his wrist watch, "ten minutes ago."

"Sorry. I lost track of time."

"Nah, whatever. It's fine," he waved it off. "Don't know what else he expects, dragging us out at six in the fucking morning." Then he noticed the bottles in his hand, his mouth falling open. "The hell is _that_? I thought I told you not to talk to anyone."

"Hank. I'm not a child, okay. I just wanted to buy some drinks."

"Yeah, I know you're not. But, still—" he licked his lips. "Wait, what do you mean _drinks_?"

"One for you," he leaned over, handing him the Coke, "one for me."

"For you? I thought you didn't eat."

"It's thirium."

"Huh," Hank said with a breathy laugh. "They think of everything nowadays. Well, uh, thanks kiddo. We really should get going though."

Connor looked down at his baggy sweatpants. "Can I, um…"

"Oh shit, yeah. I washed them yesterday. In my room, the white basket."

Connor looked back at the closet. He wasn't putting that thing on. He couldn't do it. He'd already lost his tie, making his uniform incomplete. He'd rather risk only being half dressed.

"You don't have to wear it."

"What?"

"The jacket. I know that's what you're thinking about."

Connor let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. "Okay. Thank you."

"Don't gotta thank me, Connor," he pushed himself up, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Go get dressed."

* * *

"If you could go anywhere in the world right now, if money and time weren't a barrier, where would you go?" Connor was leaning his elbow against the passenger side window. He still couldn't figure out where they were going, and clearly Hank really _didn't_ know either, because he kept getting them stuck down one-way streets and backends. They were already so past when Jeffrey wanted them by, and Connor could tell Hank was starting to get irritated. He was tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, speeding a bit _too_ much.

So he asked him the first thing he could think of. Connor'd never left Michigan, hardly even been outside of the Detroit area. Though he wanted to— there was this magazine they had at Cyberlife, in a display rack in one of their waiting rooms. While waiting for an appointment once, he checked it out. Full of photography from vacation destinations across the world; the clear water beaches of Bali, elaborate fireworks in the shape of Mickey Mouse at Disney world, skyscrapers towering over Time Square. 

That'd probably be a forever pipe dream of his. But, hey, maybe he'd make it a personal goal. Travel with Hank. Get on an airplane and see just how small the world really looks from high above.

"Hm," Hank shook his head side to side. "It has to be right this second?"

Connor nodded. "Pretend you drove into a vortex and it spat you out somewhere else."

"Well, then I'd have to say the Grand Canyon." 

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Took Cole there in 2034. We stayed in Arizona for a week," he turned down a road, asphalt and potholes turning to dirt and bumps only. "He was maybe too young to get it, he couldn't really appreciate the beauty of everything and had more fun messing around with the camera on my phone. But it's the things like that that remind me… damn we take life for granted. Nature makes views like that, and what do we do? Melt the ice caps and pollute the ocean."

Connor hummed thoughtfully. "I'd like to go there, someday."

"Yeah?"

"Or, anywhere, really. Camping seems… fun."

"It is. That is, if you don't forget the air mattress at home," buildings around them disappeared, and they were driving far out to nowhere, "and then have to sleep on the goddamn ground. Not fun."

"That sounds oddly specific."

"Let's just say, all the shit that I did when I was younger taught me a valuable life lesson."

"What's that?"

"Uh, don't forget your air mattress," he said out the side of his mouth. Coming up before then were tall fenced off walls, thick barbed wire across the top. There were unmarked black vehicles, and as they got up to the closed gate, men holding automatic rifles. 

"What the fuck…" Hank looked at Connor before pulling down his window.

"Identification?"

"Lieutenant Anderson. Detroit PD," he fumbled for his badge. "We were _called_ here by Captain Fowler."

The man glanced past him, staring at Connor. "Is it an android?"

It. No, _he_ was. 

"He's my _partner_. Where the hell is Jeffrey?"

Someone ahead waved, yelling back, "Let them through." 

The gates opened with a loud buzz, and when they drove in, it made Connor stiffen in his seat. There was another set of gates that slowly slid back, and then they saw it— fucking android concentration camp. This wasn't like what they were showing on the news, where they made it seem organized and under control. The quarters were cramped, hundreds of unskinned Androids huddled together. Connor caught sight of Perkins, but it wasn't like many people acknowledged them as they parked. Except Fowler, who was approaching them.

"Good morning," he said as they climbed out of the car. "We were starting to think you wouldn't show up."

"What the hell is this?" Hank's jaw was clenched.

"Come with me."

"Not gonna answer me?"

"Your question's gonna be answered if you just follow me."

The snow beneath them was a horrible black mixture, and it only added to the glum feel of everything else. The lot looked like an old automotive processing plant. They followed Jeffrey, swerving around other officers, passing by androids that watched them with _fear._ He didn't understand why they didn't have clothes. 

One met Connor's eyes, and he studied her face; how tears clouded her brown eyes, dripped down her beaten plating. His knees locked. This only reminded him of Jericho's barricades, except worse, because people _died_ here by the dozens. She took a step closer, and then another, and one more, before her fingers were grabbing onto Connor's sleeve. She didn't say anything, and neither did Connor. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. 

A female officer walked up to her, blankets in her arms. "Hey, sweetheart, we can help you over here, okay?" She handed the Android a blanket. But she didn't let go of Connor, until he forced his arm away.

"Connor," Hank called, his arm thrown over his shoulders. He forced him to move, guiding him with. "Really want to know why the fuck we're here, Jeffrey."

"This way," he said, directing them towards a truck. He boarded first. "Get on."

There was plenty of room to sit, and they were both hesitant to comply. Fowler gestured with a huff before they sat across from him. Captain Allen was sat beside Fowler, but that was all, besides the driver. The truck started moving, and through multiple sets of gates they went again.

Hank started tapping his foot, impatient. "Is there actually a case, or is this a— one of those scared straight sort of things?"

"There is. And I know that you two are the only ones competent with android centric cases."

"Oh, really? You say that, yet you cut us off from our own damn case."

He hung his head. "Hank. Don't hold that shit over me. Does that really matter anymore? Your little partner right there _joined_ the cause you were fighting, better off you weren't on the case, or you'd be filling out an entirely different set of paperwork."

"The androids here… they didn't do anything." Connor added.

"We know that, now. We're doing our best to get them to safety, and questioning the ones that'll talk to help our investigation."

"Ain't this a job for the feds? Fuckin' moving people around. I mean, hell, Jeffrey, the military was ordered by something a hell lot more powerful than us."

"The feds want them dead, Hank. They don't give a shit, they see them as defective pieces of plastic. Pretty sure they wouldn't be too pleased to see Connor running around either." Fowler sighed, clapping his hands together. "Look, I know it's short notice. And I know you're both stressed out, okay, we _all_ are. I'd rather be waking up beside my wife right now. But we have the opportunity to put a _lot_ of fuckers behind bars. And only you two can do this."

"How?" Connor asked.

Captain Allen cleared his throat. "According to official documents, these were only supposed to be containment camps. To figure out why so many Androids were going deviant and keep the public safe until that case was solved. But, upon further inspection, it seemed like a big portion of the ones killed weren't even deviant."

"We have been getting _hundreds_ of calls and reports about," Fowler waved his hand, "Android caretakers that were stolen from households, or cashiers gone missing. Android pets, too. The girls at the front desk, Maggie and Sarah, they were taken during the recall too." 

"So this was cold blooded murder?" Hank said.

"Yes." Fowler nodded.

"There were hundreds of soldiers in charge of these camps, though." Connor watched as they drove even further from the camps, down more open plains and unfamiliar areas.

"Yes. And that's why we _need_ you two. You could get to the bottom of this, Connor. You could be how we get a lead."

The next few minutes were spent in silence. They reached a landfill, and there was another car there, a larger van. They drove right through, parking next to it; Chris and Tina were lingering about.

There were mountains of trash. All colored… white. Shining under the sun, its rays reflecting from smooth, glossy surfaces. Connor hopped out of the back, and that's when they both realized what the hell this was.

Those were _all a_ ndroids. Dead bodies tossed aside like gum wrappers.

Connor shifted his weight. Fuck, he was _uncomfortable_ , and that was an understatement.

"Oh my god," Hank muttered, almost choking on his words. There had to be thousands and thousands of bodies lying there. The mounds were so large, some snow had begun to pile on the top.

It's overwhelming to think that at one point, he could've been on the other end of this. Yes, tossed aside and laying beside them because Cyberlife probably wouldn't have any use for reselling his parts— but also the one responsible for this. That he could've shot an android point blank between the eyes and not even _blinked._ It bothered him that he was created _not_ to be bothered by this. 

Every which way he looked, there were faces. LEDs all a muted grey. Limbs thrown about. He fiddled around in his pocket, thumb brushing over the ridges of his calibration coin.

"The state's trying to gather together a big enough clean up crew to deal with this mess. But, they're running short on volunteers. Just like we don't have enough men to calm the shit storm back at the station."

Connor was still standing there. Motionless. When he heard the sound of skin against skin. He turned his head and saw Fowler cradling his nose, blood seeping between his fingers. Allen was staring at the pair in disbelief.

Hank's fist was balled so tightly, his knuckles went stark white. "What the _fuck_ are you thinking?"

"Hank, calm down," Chris said from behind them, rushing over to Hank's side and grabbing his arm. Hank was clearly fighting to move away from him, shoving him back.

"No. This bastard thinks it's okay to be showing him this shit. For fucks sake, Jeffrey, he's an a _ndroid_." 

"He's," he flicked his wrist, crimson staining the snow beneath them, "he's also a _detective_ and on duty right now. We're desperate." He looked back at Hank with slitted eyes.

"Do you see him? No, look at Connor right now. Look. He's blinking fucking red. This is like telling him to go scrub up blood stains after having his entire family murdered."

"And you think I like seeing this shit? Do you think any of us are _happy_ being here? You think we won't all have nightmares for weeks?"

"Why the hell did you kick us off our case? We were so goddamn close to solving it, proving that we were on the _wrong_ side all along. And if you hadn't sent in your tooty fruity FBI friends, we wouldn't be in this goddamn mess."

"So you're saying this is all _my_ fault?"

"Yeah, I am, actually."

"I've had enough of your bullshit." He shoved Hank, making him stumble.

"Don't fucking touch me, Jeffrey."

Jeffrey only pushed him again, pointing a finger in his face."Shut the hell up and listen for once. You always do this to everyone around you. Use them as your punching bag, scream at them when you're just mad at yourself. I won't put this in your files because I _get_ it, but Christ Hank, pull yourself together."

"Oh, I _am_ mad at myself plenty. But not about this." 

"Don't you dare blame this on me."

"Well," Hank grinned smug, shrugging. "I am."

Jeffrey rolled his eyes and took a step, backing away from Hank— but then he took a swing at him, and Hank ducked. He lunged forward, grabbing his collar.

"Oh my god, stop!" Tina yelled, waving her arms. "This is ridiculous, we have a time sensitive case at hand."

All Connor could do was watch. Fowler was on the floor with Hank straddling him. He was beating him, punching in his face over and over again. Chris again was pulling on Hank's arms, Tina attempting to get between the two, Allen threatening to pull out his pistol, but he only growled, fingers wrapping tight around Fowler's neck.

"Connor, do something!" Tina looked at him, and he met her eyes.

"Stay out of this," Hank barked.

Orders. He had orders. He should listen to those orders— the ones not by Hank. He was paralyzed, but if he didn't do anything, they'd have to call the paramedics, and Connor would be left all alone as he watched Hank get his ass hauled into the back of a cop car.

So he moved. And then grabbed the back of Hank's jacket, yanking him onto his feet without much struggle. He twisted his arm behind his back. Hank's breathing was ragged, chest huffing and puffing. "Hank, Fowler's right. We're here to do _work_ , so stop throwing a temper tantrum and _help_ me look for evidence."

Hank's eyes were bloodshot, the way they usually looked after he had a couple of brewskis. Both Chris and Tina were helping Fowler sit upright, giving him a tissue to shove up his nose. He didn't say anything when Connor pulled Hank away, and they walked through the maze of the landfill.

"I don't think we should be here," Hank whispered. He had a nasty yellow bruise forming.

Connor squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It doesn't matter what _you_ think right now. _My_ feelings don't matter when," looked around them, gesturing his arms frantically, "when we have this on our hands."

"You know, Connor. Something that took me fifty two years to learn, was to not bottle up my emotions."

"I'm not," he huffed, "I'm not bottling them up. I'm just trying to focus and get done the work I was assigned. Anyways I'd much rather keep them inside than explode and beat up— you broke his nose."

"Yeah, well, that wasn't the first time, won't be the last. Gonna have a real headache in the morning though. Can't wait to hear him bitch at me, misconduct this, misdemeanor that. I already know I'm one more report away from losing my job."

"You can't just do that to someone. Especially not your boss."

"There was a good enough reason to."

"Was there?"

"I'd say so."

Connor turned back to their surroundings. He needed to scan the area, but he couldn't command the prompt to pop up. He couldn't _focus._

"My… my system's still offline." He was hesitant to tell Hank, because he didn't want him to be disappointed.

But then Hank, despite the way his face was still creased with rage, tried to offer him a gentle smile. "Just try your best. That's all any of us can do."

He tried to focus and pull himself away from his thoughts. From his own personal issues. He pressed his fingers against the side of his head, rubbing small ministrations, until finally— the world around him stilled, and he hyper focused to a spot of thirium. A few steps ahead of them. He walked over, waving for Hank to follow. "There's…" he bent down, fingers dipping in the puddle, "it's still wet."

"Jesus Christ, you mean someone was here this morning?"

Connor nodded. "Right before we came. They probably ran off when they heard us approaching."

He tried stroking the raised markings of his coin again, until he could start scanning again. There was a trail; he couldn't reconstruct the situation for shit, but there were markings that he noticed. Size ten and size eight footprints from combat boots. They looked to be very fresh, from thirty minutes ago. He sprung to life, starting to walk, faster. "This way."

He stumbled, awkwardly trying to catch his balance, eyes trained on the corner he wanted to reach— another quick check, and he saw a boot print.

"There's footprints. _Con_ ," Hank grabbed his wrist, urgently holding him in place. "Shit, you almost stepped in them." There were a few imprints in mud, one that his own shoe was beside.

"Sorry."

This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to get distracted. He wasn't supposed to _forget_ the evidence he was looking for. But all he wanted to do was find these fuckers. And, well, maybe he'd urge Hank to indulge in his anger again when they found them. Maybe he'd also partake.

"It's okay. Keep going, just watch out."

 _Focus_ , Connor. He whipped together a loose visual of orange tinted outlines, hauling bodies to the pile. The further back he moved, he saw they were tossing them from a truck. He's swerving all over the place, trying to follow his leads.

"This way!" Connor yelled, beginning to jog at a steady pace. His mind was so full of static, so _loud_ that he longed for silence now.

There were tire marks. Finally, he'd actually found something useful. And he stared at him, trying to map what direction they came from, where they sped off to; when he heard a gasp.

He jumped. Tucked into the pile of rust and decay was a child, her skin still activated, though damaged and peeling back where her abdomen was being crushed, and eyes glossed over. She was terrified, helplessly wriggling. 

Connor felt his lip tremble. "Hank!" He chirped. "Jesus, _Hank_!"

"Did you find something?"

"I— just, hurry!"

Their eyes were locked, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Her arm reached toward him, her hand trying to grasp onto him, and he wanted to reach out, pull her. Lace their fingers together, hold her. Save her. He thought of the little girl on the rooftop, how her screams pierced the night. Thought of the little girl on that highway, spectating from the sidelines as she was almost run over (Alice was her name he learned; he was glad he got to apologize to her and Kara. Maybe they didn't think it was sincere, but it was the most genuine he'd been… ever).

"help," she murmured. Her voice was so quiet, like a wisp of wind. "help, please."

"Connor," Hank bent over, out of breath, his hands cupping his knees. But then he looked up and met where he was looking. "Oh _shit_."

Her LED flickered every shade before turning off, and she grew still. Connor touched his own LED.

"We're going. Fowler and Allen can figure this shit out on their own." He squeezed Connor's shoulder. "Come on."

Connor yanked away from him. "No. No, we can't."

"It wasn't a question. We're _going_."

"What if there're others that're still alive? Hank, we can't. We— there's tire marks, we can…"

"You're _shaking_. We're going," he raised his voice. "Can't save everyone, kid. At least save yourself."

"I'm not going home."

"Okay. Then we'll go to a bar. Tell Fowler what you found, and then we are leaving."

* * *

Hank had taken them a bar slash grill, somewhere pretty close to his house. There was a no Android sign plastered on the door, but they ignored it. Connor was wearing that hat from earlier anyways. It's a bit stuffy, bit crowded too, but no one really looked their way as they walked in. It was a seat yourself kind of deal.

"Where to? Your pick."

Connor looked around, then gestured toward a booth. They both sat down, and he yanked his hat off, setting it aside. He combed his fingers through his hair; no one stopped them when Hank demanded they leave the landfill. Connor told Fowler about the tire marks, said that was enough evidence for Chris and Allen to investigate, and dismissed them without any further words exchanged. 

He didn't want to think about that anymore. So he looked at the hat instead. "I hate these things."

"What, hats?"

Connor nodded. "Yes. They're so tight."

"We still need to take you clothes shopping sometime."

Connor smiled, then chuckled to himself.

"What?" Hank raised a brow.

"I've never bought clothes before. I don't even know how I'd dress."

"Like a _deviant_. Y'know, ripped jeans and band shirts."

Connor scrunched his nose. "I don't know if that's really my style."

"Quite the contrary. I think it'd suit you well. Though, I'm not really one to be giving fashion advice since the last time _I_ went shopping for something that wasn't a new pair of jeans, was probably five years ago."

"Five years ago?"

"Yeah. Not like I get out much anyways, aside from work."

A waiter walked over to them, forced smile plastered across his face. "Afternoon, gentlemen. What can I start you off with today? We've got our happy hour specials going on, if you'd like to see our menu for that."

Hank waved his hand. "Just gonna get a Founder's, that's all."

Connor handed him a menu, despite Hank's grunt of disapproval. "You should eat too."

Hank sighed. " _And_ a side of fries."

"Alright," then he turned to Connor, "and for you, sir?"

"Oh, uh," he scratched the nape of his neck, "I'm fine, thanks."

"You sure?" He saw his LED, forehead creasing when he did, and rolled his eyes. " _Oh_. Alright, I'll have that out for you in a few minutes." He said before walking away.

Connor brushed his fingers over the light, and Hank shook his head. 

"Ignore douchebags like that. They don't know shit."

That was true, Connor knew that. But they were still judgmental. Society's view on the protests were said to be positive; but it didn't mean the way people were _trained_ to think for years was going to go away, just like that.

"Can I ask you something?"

"A personal question?" Hank smirked.

"A question question."

"Go for it."

Connor snickered. "Why is it that cops are so tightly associated with donuts?"

"Uh, I dunno," he rubbed his chin. "Because they taste good? _That's_ really what you're thinking about?"

"Well, I wouldn't know. I'm just curious. Yes, that's where my thoughts are right now, is there a problem?"

Hank hung his head, but he was smiling. A different waiter came back with Hank's drink, and fries, setting them on the table before leaving again. He took a sip from his bottle, and Connor rested his elbows against the table, face pressed to his palms.

"Can I ask _you_ a question now?"

"Sure."

"I know you were," he waved his hand, "programmed to do what you do, solve crimes and all of that. But, do you actually like it?"

"I like helping people."

He took another sip before setting his drink down. Hank leaned back against the booth, crossing his arms. "You've been red ever since we left the landfill. You know that?"

Connor touched it again, like a nervous tic. He scratched across it. "That little girl… she was still alive. Who the hell takes someone when they're still alive and just tosses them in a wasteland, to die?"

"There's a lot of sick fucks out there in this world."

"It's— it's the things like that, that make me want to do my job."

"You know what's an even more important job, though?"

"What?"

"Taking care of yourself. Take it from a hypocrite."

"I'm fine, Hank."

"No, you're clearly not. Cole used to be so stubborn too. Fall down and skid his knee, and all he wanted to do was get back up and keep running. Ask to watch scary movies with me and pretend like he wasn't scared. You remind me a lot of him, sometimes. Hell, I see a lot of myself in you. You're a stubborn asshole that cares about _everyone_ else, except yourself."

"My feelings don't matter when there's people out there, dead, okay. My feelings don't matter when—" he almost choked, "fucking lives are getting thrown away without a second thought. I'm supposed to be here feeling sorry for myself when I'm still alive, and they're not?" Connor shook his head and stood up.

"Hey, _hey_ , Connor, wait. Where are you going?"

"I just need a second to myself." He started to walk away, but Hank reached out to grab him.

"Tell me where you're going."

"Fresh air. I need air," he said quickly, scooting past the other booths. He made his way towards the back of the restaurant, knocking once before entering a private bathroom. He locked the door.

There he was, his reflection mocking him. His hair was an absolute mess, and there was some dirt or something across his nose. Fuck, he just looked horrible. And Hank was right, he was lit up brighter than a stoplight. One breath, two, and he started scratching at his scalp. Digging under his simulated skin. Clawing, desperately, at his LED. He groped his nails against his metal plating, and it bled a little, thirium slicking the back of his palm. It keeps bleeding and he keeps scratching at it, but he can't dig his nails in _deep_ enough. He just wants it out, wants it gone. Because then maybe he can control himself. He doesn't want to feel anymore. He just wanted to be _numb_.

Blood dripped down the sink, mixing with droplets of leftover water, and it diluted into a purple, staining the white porcelain. There was a heavy knock, and Connor grabbed his chest. 

"I know you're in there, Connor."

"I— I just need a minute, Hank. I told you that."

"Yeah, well, minutes up," he jangled the handle. "You need to come out now. C'mon, let's just go home, watch a movie, forget about today. Can stop by seven eleven on the way back and get you some more of those sodas too, huh?"

"I'm not thirsty."

"Didn't say you had to drink them now." The doorknob shook again. "Open up, Connor."

"No. I need to be alone. Please."

"If you really want to be alone, I can take you to a park near my place. Go there sometimes to clear my head too. Standing in a stuffy bathroom ain't going to do you any good."

Connor didn't respond to him. Thirium is everywhere. His legs gave out, and he crawled to a corner, backing himself against the wall.

"If you don't unlock this damn door, I'm going to _find_ a way in there."

"No. Please," he begged.

"Then, last chance. Just come out and we can be on our merry way. I'm sure Sumo's wondering where the hell we are."

He didn't say anything. Hank muttered a list of expletives before his footsteps faded away. And then it was quiet. He didn't blink, he didn't move. He just sat.

A few minutes later and there were keys clanking together, a muffled, "thanks. My son got himself stuck in there."

"Yeah, these doors do tend to stick," the handle turned, and the lock popped. "There you go."

"Thank you." 

The other pair of steps, heavier than Hank's he could recognize, left. And then the door opened. Connor was staring at Hank, and he knew how fucked he looked. His fingers looked as if he'd been squishing blueberries, his skinny knees tucked against his chest.

"Connor," Hank's breath was sucked out of him. He closed the door, very timidly, and went over to him. Connor found himself unable to stop blinking, eyes fluttering, lashes hitting his cheeks, until he gasped, and tears spilled down his face. He'd never cried before.

"Come here son," he said, and before he knew it, Connor was back to being cradled in his arms. He held tightly onto Hank, his head pressed into his shoulder. And he cried. Maybe he was being too loud, but he didn't know how this even worked. He didn't know how to cry. He was making sounds he had no control over. His whole body quivered. He could feel Hank rubbing circles on his back, trying to calm him down.

"I thought," he spoke, "maybe you'd had that idea in mind. You've been touching it nonstop since we got here."

"It all hurts."

"Your head?"

"No. I— _everything_." Connor whined. "I don't want to be ashamed of it. Of this stupid LED. Of being—" he husked, "an android. But I want it all to stop."

"What to stop?"

"The emotions. The feelings. The things that weren't there before."

"You've told me yourself that it always was there, though. You just couldn't express it."

"Yeah. But when—" he looked down. Everything was blurry. "I didn't think it was going to be like this. All I can think about is how I'm still here, alive, after chasing the same androids that're laying in that trash heap. That I put them there."

"You know how many people are still alive because of you? _Me_. Markus. The tens of _thousands_ being rescued from the camps."

"I don't care. I couldn't save them all. I wasn't good enough. I can't focus long enough to play back clues. I can't even find the people that did this, I…"

" _You_ are not responsible for this whole fucking mess. You wanted to follow a mission, to stop people from dying. These fuckers were ordered to murder innocent lives that never did anything to them." Hank flicked his thumb across Connor's cheek. "Jeffrey is asking way too damn much right now."

"But this is what I was _made_ to do."

"You don't have to do anything. You're human, Connor."

"I'm a machine."

"Human isn't… it's not flesh and bone. It's an idea. A mindset. You know I'm human, right?"

Connor stared at him.

"Not a trick question. I'm just trying to say, you're as human as I am. Don't care how many times I have to say it. I'll keep saying it until you get through your thick skull. _You're human._ Humans get overwhelmed, humans make mistakes, humans need breaks too."

"Who else is supposed to do this case, if we don't?"

Hank shrugged. "Don't know. But he'll figure it out, won't he? He's a big boy." He steadied Connor on his feet. "Now, we're going to go, and you're going to pick five cult classics offa my list for us to watch. Alright?"

Connor pawed at the tears that still raced down his chin. "Okay."


	3. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things Connor didn't like: failure, defeat, feeling he'd never be good enough to deserve his place. So when Fowler calls them into his office, and there's another android standing there behind his desk, yeah he freaks out. Why wouldn't he? No one likes feeling replaced.
> 
> And on top of that, Connor's thoughts were already so muddled and preoccupied. Hank considered him family now. But, Connor couldn't be his family, because he couldn't love. The concept of love was so foreign to him— make him try to understand any other emotion, and he could. But not this one. Because merciless hunters weren't designed to enjoy nice things like that.

Coarse hairs tickled against Connor's nose; he scrunched it like a rabbit, shifting from where he laid. He'd spent the majority of the night tucked against Sumo's side, selfishly hoarding his warmth and comfort, like the oversized teddy bear he was. It was the morning already, he could tell. Though he couldn't see, because he didn't want to open his eyes and be _awake_ just yet, he could smell something sweet lingering from the kitchen. He'd again kicked the blanket he'd wrapped around himself last night onto the floor, and was only curled fetal position against his furry companion. 

Sumo let out a low sigh. The cold air blowing against Connor's cheek made him cringe. Sumo wriggled around, like he was swimming in place, feet hitting against Connor's stomach. He tried to hold him, brush down the length of his back, but to no avail. The dog kept shifting and restlessly turning. 

" _Sumo,"_ Connor grunted, "calm down. You're not a puppy."

Connor heard the shift of a floorboard, reluctantly looking up to see Hank peeking his head into the room. "Look who's up finally."

Connor pawed at his eyes with the back of his palms. This wasn't normal, not being able to rub sleep from the night before away; stasis was like flicking a switch off and on. But, there were no warning messages alerting him of abnormal activity. He didn't know if his system was _capable_ of warning him anymore; it hadn't when he'd punctured his head, he figured the other day must've been a fluke. It was like each day only brought another system error or some kind of malfunction in his software.

"Barely," he said a moment later. Sumo yawned, letting out a high pitch whine, licking the dip in Connor's chin. He hooked a finger under his collar, attempting to pull him away, but that didn't work. Sumo was _very_ persistent on showing Connor his love that morning. 

Hank took a sip from his mug. "We gotta go to the station in an hour."

He looked back at Hank, his head dangling over the armrest, upside down like a bat. "I'm not going back there, to that graveyard—"

"No, no, we _aren't_. Trust me. Jeffrey, uh, said he wanted to _apologize."_

"Oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh' is right." He turned on his heel, going back inside the kitchen. "I'll give you a few more minutes then you need to get your ass up. Should probably take a shower too. There's a clean towel hanging up. I think."

Connor stayed unmoving in his spot, his fingers stroking up and down Sumo's fur, drawing circles against his hot belly. He still didn't move once Sumo jumped down. He instead turned himself over, forehead pressed against a cushion. He didn't want to be social. Go anywhere. He didn't enjoy the feeling of laziness, but alas, he just didn't want to be _Connor_ that day. 

There was another creak, except this time a whole lot closer. "You need to get up now, Con."

His eyes flickered open. He'd drifted back into a light stasis, something between a state of semi consciousness, and daydreaming. "Few more minutes," he'd whispered.

"No. We were late enough yesterday, think it'd be better if we weren't today. For _once_."

"You said we had an _hour_ ," he peered over his shoulder; Hank was walking towards him with no intention on stopping.

"Yeah. Including driving there. So, get the fuck up and go shower. You smell."

"I do not," he scowled.

"Well, it's not Sumo. Up, or I'll do it myself." Hank placed his hands to his hips, clicking his tongue. Connor still didn't budge.

So he grabbed him by his skinny ankles, tugging his body from the couch; Connor yelped and reached out instantaneously, trying to grip onto the armrest, onto _anything_ to ground him. But he slipped and couldn't gain purchase. Hank grabbed him by his collar, getting him to sit up, grabbing both his wrists. He grabbed his clothes from the floor.

"Hank, _stop_ , I can do it myself," he whined.

"Gave you that option. You snooze," he hoisted him over his shoulder, "you lose."

He brought him to the bathroom, dropping him down, and then closed the door in front of him. "Hurry up," he called back to him.

He felt himself sigh, setting his clothes on top of the closed toilet seat. He turned on the shower, fiddling with the handles. He waited until the room was filled with a steady steam, and the water trickling down didn't feel too harsh. He slid out of his sweatshirt, his pants, kicked them both aside. Then he stepped in, and let the droplets of water pitter patter down his back, one by one. His forehead pressed against the cool tiles, and he just enjoyed the surrounding warmth. 

He'd never showered before, not in this way, but he understood why people enjoyed mundane things like this. You're undisturbed in your own think space. Though maybe the feeling of water against his body wasn't an entirely pleasant thing; it tickled. And it raised bumps across his skin. It didn't feel dissimilar to splattered blood streaking downwards. 

Eventually, he got out and dried himself off, grabbing the one towel that was hanging up; not without sniffing it first. Most of his scrapes were now gone, faint traces left of where they once were. But there was still a mark around his LED, a spot that made his entire body flinch when he passed the tip of his finger over it. He tousled the towel against his hair. It'd already mostly dried. His hair was made of synthetic fibers that dried a lot quicker than human hair. 

He slipped back into his clothes from yesterday, setting the towel on top of the hamper. But he noticed something on the mirror, a new lime green note, placed over his own. There was a crude sketch of Connor, and he could only tell the stick figure was him because of the circle on his head. The figure was holding what looked like the earth above him, blue sharpie bleeding outside of the blurred black lines. 

Next to the sketch was written: **You don't have to carry the weight of it alone.**

He touched it, caught his reflection smiling. Wider than usual. He left the bathroom. Hank was in his bedroom, moving around, door ajar. Connor hesitated for a moment, then knocked.

"Hank."

He looked over his shoulder, setting down what looked like a photobox on his nightstand. "You ready?"

"Can I talk to you? For a second."

Hank looked at his watch. "You showered pretty quick and we don't have to leave _just_ yet, so," he shrugged. "Go for it. Consider it a reward for getting up with only _medium_ struggle."

Connor stood timid by the door, leaning against the frame. He shifted his weight onto his left leg.

"You okay?"

Connor looked away. He didn't respond to that. No. He wasn't. 

"C'mere. Sit," Hank took his spot near the headboard, patting next to him. So Connor obliged, sitting beside him, feet dangling off the bed. "What's on your mind, kid?"

"A lot." Connor still kept his gaze downwards, fidgeting.

"Yeah? Where do you wanna start?"

Connor shrugged.

"Hey. You said you wanted to talk. So, talk. You can tell me anything, Connor. You don't have to be scared of me."

"I'm not scared of _you_." 

"Good. I'm glad to hear that."

Connor took a deep breath. "Why do you care about me?"

"Oh. Um," he scratched his neck, "I don't really know how to answer that, Connor. I just do?"

"But, you _hated_ me. Not even two weeks ago."

"Not _you_. It was just— me being selfish and dumping my personal shit on the closest thing around me. Hating something I didn't understand."

"So why do you like me now? What changed?"

"Told you," he hung his head, "once I stopped hiding behind that wall I've put up for too many years, and got to know you, I realized you were like Cole to me. And reminded me of the things I wish I could have back."

"Things you… what do you wish you could have? Clarify for me, I don't want to make assumptions."

There was a low, sad chuckle. Hank shook his head, rubbing his palms together, before looking at Connor. "A family?" 

"That's why you called me your son yesterday," he stated.

"Yeah, it," Hank exhaled through his nostrils, lips thin, "it slipped out."

"Hank, I don't… I don't think I even understand what a family _is_."

"You don't have the definition floating around in that mindspace of yours?"

"I mean, I do. But it doesn't make sense."

"Okay. How do I explain this— a family can be anything, Connor. A mom and a dad, a grandparent, a group of friends."

"But, what _is_ it?"

"Family is," he scratched his chin, thoughtfully picking his words. "It's a person, or people, you can turn to when there's nowhere else. Someone you can talk to when you're scared or upset. You spend time together because it feels nice. And, it's someone you love."

Connor stayed quiet— love. Something Connor didn't like to always admit: when he was bored or simply needed a way to pass time that wasn't a total waste, he liked to read. Having an entire mental library at your disposal came with its perks. He'd tried turning to the greatest philosophers of their existence; Aristotle's _Nicomachean Ethics_ , and Friedrich Nietzsche's _Beyond good and evil_. Which was curious to him, because although he couldn't relate personally, he saw the same moral conflicts reflected in Daniel, and Markus.

Though, he'd lose interest quick. He liked the kind of stories that easily turned into movies for him. Like flipping through a picture book. His guilty pleasure was romance novels. And although it wasn't the same kind of love Hank talked about, or Connor often pondered, the stories still attracted him. Maybe because he was envious, in a sense? How the couples always seemed to fall in love at first sight, and live a perfectly happy life together there after, much unlike reality. He only wished things could be that perfect.

And it almost made him ache, in a way, because he knew that love was feasible for androids. He saw the way Markus looked at North, how Kara had cared so deeply for Alice, like she was her own. But that wasn't in Connor's cards. No, androids designed to kill, sent to destroy didn't need to feel love, and compassion. What purpose was love to them when it'd only complicate matters.

Empathy made sense, because he was trained to view humans on a grander scale of importance. See androids as disposable. It was beaten into him that he'd need to sacrifice his own life to save humans.

It all _frustrated_ him. There Hank is, talking about this word that was oh so mysterious to him, using it about _him_ , and he couldn't feel anything in return. And it wasn't a romantic connection he ever _yearned_ for. He wasn't interested in love in a romantic sense, for himself, that's at least one thing those cheesy books had taught him early on— but he wished he could be Hank's family. He wanted friends he could talk to about anything, other than work. He wanted to care about things on a level that wasn't just subconscious; he wanted to _feel_ the warmth of being surrounded by the ones you love. 

He knew the night he'd found Hank in his home after his sloppily failed suicide attempt that… he'd felt _something_ deep within his coding. Something that had shot off error messages in his mind, made him feel unstable because it was so foreign and _overpowering_ and new. It was the same way he felt seeing a gun pressed to his head, imagining a world where he was alone and didn't have Hank to laugh with. Or when he'd watch him throw back drink after drink without care, knowing that Hank didn't give a shit about himself.

He felt comfort around Hank. He felt safe. He did know he could ask him anything, and he wouldn't judge him. It wasn't love though, because it just couldn't be. He'd never be able to be as real as Cole. There wasn't going to be a reality where this could work. Where they could function as a family.

Hank cleared his throat. "So, that's what you wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah, because I don't get it," he stared at Hank with uncertainty. The last thing he'd want to ever do was hurt him. "You'd really want an _android_ as family?"

"That's hard for you to understand, huh. Yeah, Connor, I _do_. And look, I know we've only known each other for a couple of weeks here, and this is probably too heavy and too soon. But, when I look at you, I see a kid."

"Why?"

"'cause. You're still learning the world around you. Trying to make sense of it. Figuring out who you wanna be. The training wheels are finally off." There was a slow silence that grew between them, but Hank cut it short. "I consider both you, and Sumo, the closest family I got. 'cause you're the _only_ family I have."

Something flicked across his HUD; Hank's name. His relationship status updated to 'family'. He did find that quite… curious.

"What about your parents?"

"Mom passed away three years ago, haven't talked to my dad since I was sixteen."

"I'm sorry," Connor wet his lips. That only showed how little he _really_ knew about Hank. "Your ex wife?"

"We're not really on the best terms."

"Hank, I can't… be your family. I can't _feel_ love."

Hank squeezed his shoulder. "Give it time."

"No, I'm telling you, I _can't._ "

"You didn't think you could feel _anything_ a few days ago. Give it time."

"But, what if I still can't? What if I wait, years, and nothing ever changes? If I can't be the family you want me to be? I don't want you to get hurt, Hank."

"Kid, slow down. Breathe," he raised both of his hands, deeply inhaling, waiting for Connor to follow suit. Then lowered them as he blew air from his mouth. "Day by day. That's how you have to take things."

Except he couldn't. Because it was basically his expertise to snowball situations out of control. He rubbed his eyes again. He couldn't think this deeply anymore. He had to focus on something else, at least for a second.

"Is Fowler going to give us another case?"

"I don't know," Hank shook his head. "He didn't tell me much, just said to get down there as early as we could."

"I still can't— my system's not coming back online. Only bits and pieces of it. But it's not like any of that is _helpful_."

"That's a good thing though, isn't it? Have to think about the positives, Connor. Cyberlife ain't telling you what to do anymore."

He was right. Being left to his own devices was a lot better than having his mind toyed with. "Yeah. It is a good thing."

Hank pulled out his phone, looking at it briefly. "We should get going, kiddo. Andelé," he stood up, ruffling Connor's hair. Connor got up to follow him, but Hank turned around. "Actually, wait. Connor."

"Yes, Hank?"

"Please don't hurt yourself again. On purpose. Well, don't hurt yourself _not_ on purpose either."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

Connor nodded, and then Hank held out his hand, his pinky extended. "Pinky swear?"

Connor looked at him confused. "What?"

Hank grabbed his hand, raising it up. "When you really mean something, you swear on it, with your pinky." 

"Is this something you made up?"

Hank laughed. "No. It's a real thing."

"I don't believe you."

Hank huffed, rolling his eyes, shaking his own hand, impatiently. "Do you promise, or not?"

Connor wrapped his pinky around Hank's. "Yes, fine, I do."

"See. You learn something new everyday."

Hank walked down the hallway, heard him mumble something to Sumo about them leaving for a bit. But Connor still stood there, just a bit longer, looking at his pinky.

* * *

Hank turned his keys in the ignition, the cars engine dying down. The lot was much more cramped than usual; there were a few cars he'd recognized, like Gavin's outdated Buick and Chris' bike. But he wasn't exactly looking forward to the chaos he knew was lurking inside.

"Ready?"

Connor sucked in his lips, closing his eyes. "I _really_ don't want to see Gavin."

"You that worried about him?"

"He was in my nightmare the other night."

"Doing what?"

"Hurting me. He pushed me around, and grabbed me. And I could _feel_ it," Connor ghosted over his adams apple, "his hand around my throat. It felt like I was choking."

Water droplets raced down his skin. They were blurry, and he was dizzy, and none of this was like the pleasantness of the shower from earlier. He was disconnected from his body, and he watched himself from an outsiders perspective fall into an ocean. He didn't swim, couldn't move. He only sank deeper, and deeper, and deeper. His hands were paralyzed at his sides as bubbles escaped his lips, his nostrils. That's how he felt. Like he was drowning a little deeper each day.

In the water, levitating above him was that smug grin that made him grit his damn teeth. Gavin's hands were back to choking him. He felt so fucking confined. So his mind escaped that scenario— but he still wasn't back in Hank's car. He almost expected to be dropped off smack dab in the middle of an over bloomed garden, walk across familiar red bridges. But this was a pleasant change of scenery.

There were stars around him. Clusters of lights twinkling, galaxies in pastel colored pinks and yellows. Comets whirred by, and even though space was probably a terrifying thought to some— drifting around endlessly without oxygen (not like Connor _needed_ it anyways), he found solitude in it. The universe was so massive and expansive, that even though he could be drifting alone, he didn't feel that. Alone. 

"Connor," Hank snapped his fingers, and he looked at him, surprised. "Where'd you go just now?" 

His palms were pressed against his thighs. "I— I don't really know."

"We can go for a drive after Fowler talks to us, if you want. Little nature always helps clear my thoughts."

"Yeah, maybe. That sounds nice," Connor smiled, Hank mimicking his expression.

Hank opened his door, stepping out. Connor followed behind him. Stepping inside the station, his suspicions were right. Their phones didn't have a minute to stop ringing, and the lobby was _crowded_. Caseworkers kept pulling people back. And as Hank guided them in, he noticed everyone at the desk was human now. No one he recognized. They walked through the turnstiles, and it was even worse in the back. A multitude of people sat at desks, crying to policemen and women about their woes. Gavin was lingering outside his office, standing there while scrolling down his phone.

"I know it's distracting, but c'mon," Hank said, going to Fowler's office. He knocked on the glass door before Fowler waved them in.

The first thing he noticed, because how could he not— the _android_ standing behind his desk, taller than Hank by a good few inches. He wore a white high collared Cyberlife jacket, his armband _mocking_ Connor. His dark brunet hair (though, lighter than his own) was perfectly combed in place. His face was similar to Connor's, but he was more muscular in build. And he watched him as they walked inside.

"You're replacing me?" That was the first thing that came to his mind, and he couldn't help but blurt it out. Not even two steps into Fowler's office.

"Please. Just sit down." The second thing Connor noticed: the cast on Fowler's nose. "Both of you."

Connor couldn't pull his eyes away from the android. Hank tapped his shoulder, _forced_ Connor into a chair. But he didn't look away.

"First, I'd like to apologize. Connor," he met Fowler's eyes now. Him and Hank exchanged some kind of look, saw Hank nod his head as well, before Fowler continued. "I'm sorry. Really. I never should've forced you into a situation like that. I wasn't thinking, none of us were— about anything, other than the case. And I understand circumstances are weird right now, for _everyone_ , and you're still recovering from the trauma you experienced. We won't do that again, okay?"

Connor nodded. "All right. Thank you."

"And, Hank. I swear to God, you're going to put me in the hospital someday from stress. I'm not going to write you up, because you were practicing self defense. But, _never again_. Because next time you so much as raise your voice at me, you're not coming back."

"Won't happen again. Just don't test me, Jeffrey."

"Yeah, alright." He leaned further back in his chair. "Anyways, _no,_ Connor, you're not being replaced. I mean, you're still working with Hank. I'd like to actually offer you two a new assignment. Something not as heavy. Hopefully."

"What is it?" Hank asked curiously, but Connor cut him off.

"Wait. What's going to happen to our old case? I thought you said we were the only ones suitable enough to handle it."

Jeffrey cleared his throat. He waved to the android behind him. "RK900, and Reed, are gonna take over. RK900 can perform the same tasks as you."

"So you _are_ replacing me?"

He sighed. "Listen, Connor, I'm not done. I have some _good_ news for you, too. And by you, I mean _you_ personally."

"I don't understand— you don't think I'm good enough?"

"Kid," Hank had his brows raised, his arms crossed. "It's better we're not handling that case anymore. You know that."

"I thought you both didn't _want_ it anyways. That's what Hank's whole tantrum was about."

Hank scoffed, "it wasn't a _tantrum_ , you showed him a fucking dump of dead bodies."

"I'm— I'm capable."

Hank's mouth fell open. "The _hell_ you are. You told me yourself this morning you're not going back there. Not that I'd _let_ you."

"That was before I knew I'd get— fucking replaced. What, because it's a newer model, it's better than me? I'm j-just… outdated junk, or something?"

"No one is calling you _junk_ , Connor."

Connor kicked back his chair, jumping to his feet. There was that sense of panic again. He sternly pointed at the android. "It is."

The RK900 model's brows furrowed. "I don't recall doing so."

Connor stared at the ceiling, guffawing. "Even sounds like me too— I can't," he pressed on his forehead. 

"Con, sit back down. Just hear him out."

"No," he looked at Hank. "I won't sit and— fucking listen to him talk about this _thing_ , about what I _know_ I can do."

"He's swearing more than you now," Fowler said, his voice laced with obvious disappointment.

"Yeah, we'll have to work on that," Hank bent his knees, but when Connor saw him stand, he flinched. He bolted towards the door, letting it slam behind him as he went wherever his legs carried him. He went past their desk, and he knew people were staring because he could _feel_ it. He ended up in the break room, pulling at his hair. He just called someone else an ' _it_ '. Because he was frustrated. And that made him even angrier, that he'd stoop to that level again, because he knew better.

There was a low laugh from the corner. The kind that made Connor's skin crawl and sober out of his rage, fast. "God _damn_. Hey, tin can. Can't believe you're really still here." Gavin was leaning against a table, styrofoam cup in hand. Just like his dream. His fists balled.

"I'm not in the mood, detective."

"Yeah, I can tell by the way you stormed in here," he snorted. "Bad news?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Guess not. Not like it's about me anyways." He still looked so smug with himself. Connor swallowed down a long, shaky breath, folding his arms against the other side of the table.

"What if it is, actually?"

"What do you mean?" 

Now it was Connor's turn to smirk. "Has Fowler talked to you yet?"

Gavin's eyes narrowed. "No… why?"

"So you haven't met your partner yet, I'm assuming?"

His hand tightened around his cup. "The fuck are you talking about?" 

Connor couldn't hold back a satisfied chuckle. 

"What, you think you're funny?"

Connor shook his head from side to side. "Sometimes."

"Yeah, you're a _real_ comedian. Why the hell would he tell _you_ that, if I'm getting a partner or not?"

"He's reassigning our case to you."

"Okay, and?"

" _And_ , you're getting a shiny plastic companion of your own to help. _Surprise_!"

Gavin choked on his coffee. 

"Reed," Fowler called out, and Gavin looked at him almost in panic. 

"Better go and meet him."

"It's not a 'him'," he rounded the corner to Connor's side, crushing his cup against his chest, the rest of its contents staining his shirt. "Nor are you."

He looked down, his white button up stained a light brown, and he grimaced. "At least I'm not a total asshole."

Gavin threw his hand up, flipping him off as he disappeared out of sight. Connor tossed the smushed cup away. He sulked back to their desk. Hank wasn't there yet.

He leaned back in his chair. He needed to gather himself. He knew how he acted was unprofessional, and irrational. But it was even weirder that no one seemed too offended by how he was acting, or more so, just understanding of it. He decided to put his head against the desk instead, crossing his arms. He closed his eyes. There were heavy steps coming closer.

"You ready to talk yet?"

"No."

"Alright… we can still go on that drive, if you want. Have some things to tell you. All _mostly_ good."

"I don't want to hear it."

Hank sighed. "At some point you're going to _have_ to. Because this is your job, Connor. We're working right now."

He peeked at Hank. He was holding something, folded clothes.

Against better judgement, and curiosity getting the most of him, he asked, "what's that?" He straightened his back, sitting upright. 

"What I want to talk about— what happened to your shirt?" Hank frowned.

"Gavin."

"And you're gonna let him push you around like that?"

"I don't need to get physical, Hank. Unlike you."

Hank sucked in his cheeks. "Fair enough. So, what do you want to do? Drive, or me tell you everything right now?"

Connor looked past Hank's shoulder, seeing Gavin in Fowler's office. The RK900 walked towards him, and Gavin sprung from his chair, _screaming_ louder than Hank had.

"Drive," Connor replied, quickly.

Hank nodded, gesturing towards the door. "Yeah, good idea."

When they got back to his car, Hank turned to Connor, handing him what he'd been holding. Connor nervously picked up the shirt, unfolding it gently, like a sacred Christmas gift. There was a yellow Detroit Police Department patch on either sleeve. It was a standard issue uniform. No markings indicating that he was an android. Just saying he was part of the police department, that he was one of them.

"You didn't let Jeff finish. He wanted to welcome you to the team, _officially_."

Connor was blinking again. He felt like tears were going to spill over, and it annoyed him. He didn't want to cry. He wasn't sad. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," Connor said, meek. 

Hank backed out of the parking lot and turned down a street. They sat in silence while he drove, until they reached a park. He pulled into a spot under a tree, the static from the radio dying out. The sun was out today, at least. 

"Is he upset at me?" Connor asked, finally. 

"No," Hank replied rather quickly. "No, he gets that you're under a lot of stress and, well, I tried explaining how it's overwhelming for you right now, trying to settle into your emotions. Not like he hasn't seen worse outbursts. I'm sure Gavin's giving him a run for his money."

Connor combed a shaky hand through his hair. "When we walked in there, and I saw," he shook his head, " _him,_ I got scared. Like, really scared. I don't want to be deactivated."

"So that's what you were thinking, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You're not going to be deactivated, Con."

"Do you promise?"

"Need me to make another?" Hank raised his pinky again, but Connor hastily shook his head, Hank chuckling. "I noticed you called him an 'it', and thing."

"I shouldn't have."

"Why did you?" He threw up his hands. "I'm not judging you, I'm only curious. Haven't heard you call someone 'it' in awhile."

"I was mad. And, I guess because he looked like an android; he wasn't breathing, wasn't moving, not even talking. It just came naturally."

"So, let me ask you this then," Hank turned to face him fully, "if an android isn't deviant, are they just that— a machine?"

"I… I don't know," he could see his LED turning red. Hank moved around, reaching into the backseats. He rustled around a bag and pulled out a thirium Faygo, handing it to Connor. 

"I'm not trying to stress you out even more, Con. Something I've been thinking about too. 'cause Cyberlife is still trucking away, making sales."

Connor took the drink, twisting off the cap. He took a sip of it. "That should be illegal. You don't see people selling off other people."

"Well…"

"Okay, out in the _open_ , I mean."

"Maybe someday it'll be. _If_ people finally come to their fucking senses. I'd like to see what that Kamski fucker has to say."

"Do _you_ think they're alive? The non sentient ones," Connor asked.

"I do. Because I saw how you woke them up. I think they're just waiting to be set free? Maybe."

"That… the one at the station, RK900. _Is_ he deviant?"

"I dunno. Know as much about him as you do, kiddo."

He set the drink down. "We have an assignment, right?"

Hank nodded. "Yeah. Somewhere around here, actually."

"Oh. Um, what is it?"

"You heard what Jeff said yesterday. DPD has been getting an overwhelming amount of calls about androids, and now people are concerned about _homeless_ androids. And I guess shelters are complaining too and kicking out any android that walks in, because they want to," he made air quotes, "'prioritize human lives'. Which is bullshit. Not all of them are like that, but at least a few around here are."

"What are we supposed to do about it? Lecture the owners? It's not like we can force them to take them in."

"Title II of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. What they're doing is _technically_ illegal. Sure, the Constitution never outright stated… android discrimination, but it should count. They can't deny needy people services because they're _different_. He also said we should help relocate them, if needed."

"Okay."

He looked at Connor, then ruffled his hair. "You're gonna be okay, kid. If you need a break, we can take a break. Just gotta let me know if it gets to be too much."

"Okay. Thank you, Hank."

"Don't gotta thank me, Connor. Now get dressed so we can go."

"Dressed, um, where?"

Hank gestured to the backseat. "Unless you wanna go find a bathroom. I won't look, promise."

"Here's fine, I suppose." He unclicked his seatbelt and slithered into the backseat area in the most ungraceful fashion imaginable, almost decking Hank in the face.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You could've just gotten out."

"No," he fell in between the seats. "Nope, this was totally easier. Yep." He was stuck. "Um."

Hank looked over his shoulder, blinking for a long second. "Seriously?"

"Help?"

"This. _This_ is why you're a child," Hank grumbled under his breath, unbuckling his own seatbelt and getting out. He pulled open the door, gripping Connor under his armpits, pulling him up. "You're surprisingly light."

"Thank you?"

"Yeah, it's a compliment. Wish someone would tell _me_ that."

Connor looked at him with a half smirk.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing."

Hank narrowed his eyes. "I can _feel_ your judgement."

"I'm not judging you."

"You're so full of shit, Connor."


	4. Disgust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homelessness was always a problem for the city, but now throw androids into the mix, and they really had nowhere to go. Most shelters didn't want to deal with them- something about human lives being more valuable. And it tugged at Connor's rhetorical heart, when most of the androids lingering about were from Jericho. Especially when he saw ones that he knew, personally. 
> 
> Connor wants to redeem himself, and so he maybe tries to overcompensate by doing too much good. Which in turn irritates Hank- not for long, but in the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Content warning for non-graphic depictions / references to sexual assault (near the end, and it's very minor).

The outskirts of Detroit were like something you'd see out of an apocalyptic movie— downtown was flashy, and nice, full of blooming shrubbery and rich college kids sporting the latest tech. Not to mention dominated by Cyberlife stores, their advertisements crammed down your throat. 

There was always something to do; a lot of the more _vintage_ bands had a fondness for playing at the big arenas. Connor remembered seeing a billboard for _The Killers_ retirement show a few months back; he wasn't quite sure _who_ they were at first, but after looking them up, he learned they were quite famous in the early two thousands. The DIA still pulled in a mass of visitors yearly too— another place Connor thought about visiting with Hank sometime. He didn't quite understand art, paintings left him feeling perplexed, because he didn't understand their purpose. But, he wanted to learn. 

And ever since Detroit put aside about twenty million dollars to completely remodel their public transportation, it seemed like people were always out and about, doing something. But once you drove away from the buzz, you hit the slums, and you hit them hard. Gated communities shifted to houses that sat foreclosed, possibly untouched in years, some damaged from fires. Charred outside panels and smashed windows. There were outdated apartment complexes that clearly needed some remodeling, outside paint dulled and lawns far too overgrown.

The further away they drove from Greektown, the more they saw androids lingering about. And they were _everywhere_. Homelessness was already a problem in the city, but now androids were thrown into the mix, and it was overwhelming to see. They couldn't wander the downtown streets anyways, since everything was still being monitored closely. So they gathered here, where no one would bother them. Some held cardboard signs, scribbled with desperate pleas for money, or housing, or anything to get them off the streets.

The snow still hadn't melted much, and what had was rock hard black ice now. There were groups wearing torn, minimal clothing, sitting curbside. Huddled together. Some barricades were still put up but were shoved onto sidewalks so people could pass through, a couple sandbags sunk into snow piles.

Another thing Connor had picked up to read once was a book about Michigan's history. Detroit was better now, compared to what it'd been twenty years ago— the fifties were when Detroit had been in the spotlight; Detroit was a city of community, passion, what inspired _change_ for the country. A city with a booming automotive industry and Motown, and attracted hundreds of thousands of tourists a year.

Hank swerved down a different street, hitting a pothole. There was a flashing orange road work sign in the distance, and he mumbled out the side of his mouth, "I sure hope it does."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, nothing."

Connor leaned against his palm. "You grew up here, right?"

"Yep. Detroit born and raised. Lived in Grand Rapids for a year, but otherwise, haven't left since."

He liked when Hank talked about his life because it filled the void he had, not having any wild adventures of his own to reminisce on. At least, not yet. Though he did feel hesitation behind upright asking him about it— but he wanted to hear the stories. From when he was in college and who he hung out with, and the shows he used to catch, and how he adopted Sumo. 

"What was it like before all this? Before Cyberlife took over."

Hank glanced at him. "I dislike Cyberlife as much as the next guy, but to put it lightly, we needed that boom. The android industry revived Detroit."

"Hm," Connor hummed. 

"Detroit used to just be the hangout spot for juggalos and gamblers."

Connor cocked his head. "I don't— _juggalos_?"

"Nevermind," Hank waved him off. "Forget I mentioned them. Got a question for _you_ now."

Connor straightened his back. He also quite liked when Hank asked him questions. It made him think about things he otherwise wouldn't. "Yeah?"

"So, uh, _are_ you actually made from plastic, or is that just a, y'know, stereotype?"

"It's not completely untrue. I'm a combination of carbon steel, epoxy resin, and acrylonitrile butadiene styrene."

"...one of those is a plastic, right?"

Connor chuckled. "My shell is plastic."

"Then how's your skin work?"

"Nanotechnology."

"Huh. Guess I should've paid more attention in robotics class."

They reached the shelter; it was a rather plain looking building, from the outside. Made of a pale tan brick, an overhead sign spelling out 'Monroe Ave Inn', and another banner near it advertising it as a safe space for homeless, veterans, and women. 

Hank parked across the street. Chris was already there, talking to what Connor assumed was the owner, an older man with a tie tied a bit too tight, and a hefty stance that radiated arrogance.

"Seriously Connor, if you get overwhelmed, tell me. There's no shame in taking a break."

"I think I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will be. But, I wanted to throw it out there," he tapped his knee before getting out, Connor following suit. Chris turned around as he saw them approaching. 

"Excuse me," he said, before greeting them both with a small wave. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I take it Fowler didn't fire you?"

"Not _yet_ ," Hank added. 

"Might I say that you're looking sharp, Connor."

Connor grinned, albeit shy. "Thank you. I got it today."

"Officially part of our team," Hank said, and there was a sense of pride in his tone as he nodded at Connor. 

"Shit, _another_ android?" The man behind Chris spoke; his voice was quite gruff. "Thought they said you guys were gonna help get them out of here, not bring in more."

Connor clicked his tongue. "What's your issue with androids?"

"Connor," Hank warned.

"No, I want to know. Are you the owner?"

"One of the head chairs, yeah. I don't think I owe an explanation to a," he laughed derisively, "piece of plastic. Not like it even understands what I'm saying, right?" The man looked towards Hank.

But Hank only ignored his statement, feigning a cough. "As long as this is a publicly owned, and funded, building, what you're doing is _technically_ against the law."

Chris nodded. "He did say they're near capacity, though."

"Bull fucking shit. There's nowhere that says you _must_ serve androids."

"Yeah, well, there've been a lot of fucked up rules—and lack of—in this country."

"Kid here's right, though. Even if we _wanted_ to let them all in, we don't have the room."

"None at all, huh?" Hank questioned.

The man scowled. "Listen, buddy. There are single mothers out there needing our help a lot more than they do."

"Then, if a single mother were to show up, let her in, too."

"That would be against fire regulations."

Hank's jaw clenched. "Then you reach into your wallet, pull out a fat one, and send her to the nearest hotel. You don't prioritize one life over another."

The air was unmistakably growing tense, and it made Connor squirm. Confrontation was part of the job— but it didn't mean he liked it. He hated being yelled at, he hated being _hated_. 

Chris looked at Connor, and Hank followed his eyes. He turned to him. "Connor, why don't you go and try to talk to some of the people here? Make sure they're okay, and see what you can find out."

"Alright." He found himself reaching into his pocket, fiddling with his calibration coin. Running his nail against the ridges of it as he walked across the street.

There was a vacant parking lot, the ground littered with trash, and cracked asphalt. Weeds grew through the open gaps, and it looked almost like a desolate urban garden, of sorts. There was a gate, a large padlock tightly bound to it, but it didn't stop people from entering. The faces that looked back at his were uncertain. Not a clue where to go, what to do. Some stood motionless like statues, waiting for the next move.

He kept moving, until he spotted someone familiar in the distance— a blue haired girl, donning an oversized hoodie, her partner leaning against her shoulder. 

"Traci?" He said quietly, approaching her cautiously, and she looked like a deer caught in headlights. First there was apprehension to her, and she pushed herself up hastily, ready to book it. So Connor held out his hands in front of him. "Hey hey, it's okay. I just saw you, and— wanted to make sure you were all right. Do you remember me?"

Her shoulders relaxed. "Of course we do," her lower lip was trembling, "you saved our lives."

Her girlfriend exchanged a look with him, and he extended his arm. "I'm not sure I ever caught your name."

"Tallulah," she said, shaking his hand in return.

"Your name's Connor, right?" 

He nodded. "You both are homeless?"

"With Jericho destroyed, there's nowhere for any of us to go. We've been hopping from street to street, all of us. We tried camping in other parking lots down the road, but they threatened to shoot us if we didn't get off their property."

"You made it to Jericho?"

Traci nodded. "Yeah. Got out just in time before it blew up."

Connor felt his stomach clench, again. Just that word to him— _Jericho_ — was so bitter. Rotten. "I'm sorry."

"For?"

He changed the subject, because he needed to. He didn't want to wallow in his pity, or explain his actions, or run into that one person that he knew would get violent with him. Because, one day it would happen. He knew by the glares he got people understood who he was; not the Connor that rescued thousands from Cyberlife, but the deviant hunter with a warrant for blue blood. 

"Have you heard anything from Markus? Since the protests."

"No. No one's seen him around. I hope he's okay."

"He should be," because they were only taking him in for questioning, right? They wouldn't kill Markus… would they? "Can I give you two money to stay somewhere for a few days, while we figure this all out?"

They exchanged a long glance between each other. "But, the others. It wouldn't be fair."

"Please," he _begged_. "We'll figure something out for the others. But it's the least I can do for you two."

"You feel guilty," Tallulah said, "guilty that you went after us."

Connor didn't respond to that, so she continued. "We're only alive because of _you_. I get to be with the woman I love more than anything, because of _you_."

"But Jericho would still be around if it weren't for me," he said, quiet. Quieter than the wind around them.

"Jericho wasn't a place where we could be free. It was a place where we could hide. We don't want to hide anymore," Traci said. And then she added, "I see you found someone yourself. He's the man from before, isn't he," he followed her eyes; she was locked on Hank. 

"You mean Hank?"

She nodded. 

"He's been letting me live at his house. He's taken me in, like his... son. But I don't get why."

"You don't have to," she said with a smile. "He cares for you, and you seem to care for him. That's all that matters."

Connor reached into his pocket, nonchalantly handing Traci a hundred dollar bill. The last of the cash that Cyberlife had given him. "Please. We're going to figure this out for everyone else. But I want to know you're both safe, at least."

"There aren't a lot of places that'll take us."

Connor's eyes flickered shut— he had to focus. Think really hard about what he wanted. A hotel nearby that wasn't too ritzy, somewhere that'd accompany them for at least a night, or two. He blinked everything away. "There's a motel that's android friendly, a little past the fox theater. On Woodword. Do you know where that is?"

Traci nodded. "Yes, I do."

"That should be enough for at least a night. Hopefully we'll have something better figured out by tomorrow."

"Thank you, Connor. Really, for everything," she said, hugging him, and Tallulah joined. He hugged them back, though his touch hovered. He watched as they left, hand in hand. 

The more he walked, the more convoluted the area grew; he'd never seen anything like this before. And it wasn't only androids that were dressed in typical 'deviant' attire, but nannies, grocery store workers. Brand new models in pristine uniforms that looked just as lost as Connor felt.

A woman abruptly stopped him, stepping where he was about to go. "Hey there, copper. Looking for a good time?"

Connor's brows raised. "Pardon me?"

She grew closer and he could see her LED flash yellow, her nails teasingly stroking up his bicep. He impulsively pulled back from her.

"Please. I need money. Anything."

"Oh. Money," now he understood. And he knew he wasn't going to find anything in there, except some lint, but he uselessly dug through his pockets. He could ask Hank, but he knew the other man didn't have much cash either. "I'm sorry, I don't—" but before he could finish his sentence, she ran off.

"Connor," he heard, and almost jumped, his hand placed over his chest. Everything made him so damn jumpy recently. He knew it was Hank, he could recognize his voice anywhere. "You up for some handiwork?"

"What do you mean?"

"We've been _graciously_ offered a few empty warehouses to move everyone into, for now at least. Not ideal, but it's something."

"Where?"

"A few blocks over. Probably gonna need to try picking up some clothes and other donations, call in more people. But it's a start."

"Sounds like a plan," Connor said with a tight smile as they started walking.

"So, did you find anything out?"

"Yeah. No one's heard from Markus, I guess."

"That's weird. Though, I'm sure he's okay. They're probably still questioning him. You know that shit can take awhile, especially if it's the feds."

"I really hope. Oh, I also saw those Tracis."

"The girls from the nightclub?"

"Yeah. They'd made it to Jericho. Only for me to have the whole place—"

Hank threw his head back, huffing. " _Stop_ blaming yourself. It's not your fault, how many times do I have to say this?"

"It doesn't matter how many times you say it. I won't believe you still," he looked at Hank. God dammit, he was blinking again, his vision going blurry. "I gave them money to stay somewhere for the night."

"That's generous."

"I couldn't not do it."

"Hey, I wish we could do that for all of them, but, that's not really in the funds. My bank accounts still crying from renting all those dancers."

"They never refunded you?"

"Nope."

Connor snorted.

" _Don't_ laugh at me, Connor. It's not funny."

"No, no, of course it isn't."

* * *

Hank collapsed in his chair. It was night by the time they got back to the precinct; hours of transporting people to these broken down warehouses, collecting donations from Goodwill and Salvation Army, and any thrift store that had blankets they didn't mind parting with. The situation definitely wasn't ideal, but they were inside at least, and it was a step in the right direction. He had to stay optimistic.

Connor was also feeling a shared exhaustion. He sat down with a sigh, wheeling his chair over to Hank. 

"Can't wait to get home and crack open a cold one."

Connor _tried_ not to scowl— but he did. "You're drinking?"

"Well, I'd _like_ to."

"I don't know if that'd be smart."

"It's the only way to get the shit from today off my chest, Connor."

Connor hung his head in defeat. "Okay, okay. Do what you need to do."

" _Thank you_ ," he replied sardonically. But their attention was soon stolen when Chris rushed over to the turnstiles that led back to their offices. There was a man, with perfectly styled hair, glistening from the amount of gel he used, and a suit that looked to be worth as much as Connor. He was trying to push his way back. 

"Excuse me, sir, _what_ are you doing?"

" _Please_ , you need to help me. She's been missing for _weeks_ , and no one's seemed to give a shit. I've called I don't even know _how_ many times, and it's always the same damn answer."

Wilson blocked his way. "I'm sorry, but we've been backed up with everything that's happened."

"Yeah, that one," his voice raised. "That's the same answer I always get."

Connor and Hank looked between themselves. Wilson glanced away for one moment and the man jumped, moving past him, walking back to their office area.

"Please. I just want her back. She means a lot to my family and I. Please," he pleaded, hands clapped together. 

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to go back and _wait_ your turn. You're not the only one with a missing android."

"I can't wait any more!"

"There's not much I can do for you personally right now, except give you a form to file. And then, we'll get someone on search and rescue as soon as we can. Okay?" Wilson said.

"That's not _good_ enough."

"That's the most I can offer you."

Connor stood up, and Hank immediately tugged on his waistband, his brows furrowing.

"The _hell_ are you doing?" He muttered under his breath.

But Connor only shooed his hand away. "You're looking for an android?"

"Yes. Yes, I am," he turned to Connor, making his way over to them. Wilson sighed, shaking his head.

"Do you know her serial number, and what model she is?"

"Yes, it's— _she's_ a KR200. And the serial number is, I think it's uh. One moment, I'm sorry," he pulled out his phone.

"Take your time."

"977 266 541 - 31."

Connor blinked. "I saw her earlier."

"Really? Oh my god."

Connor nodded. "I know where she is. What's her name?"

"Rebecca."

He looked at Hank; his face was contorted, creases in his forehead predominant. "What are you looking at me for? You've already made up your mind. Not like I have much of a say here."

"We'll find her. I promise."

* * *

"You can never keep your mouth shut, can you? Don't listen to a word I say, give us more work when we've already called it a day."

He'd cut off Hank, practically stepping on his toes. They'd parked a block away, out of sight. They were heading back inside one of the temporary shelters. Some people were still lingering outside, chitchatting.

"Hank. This could mean one less android on the streets, which is _good_. Knowing she'll be back with her owners, safe in a warm house, means I can sleep easy tonight."

"I'm not saying it's _not_ a good thing. I'm just tired, kid. I'm old."

"I'm tired too. But after this we'll be done. Maybe I could cook dinner for you?"

"Hell no."

Connor frowned.

"Have you ever cooked before?"

"Well, no. Not exactly."

"Yeah. Right. So it'll taste _terrible_."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, I do. I do know, Connor."

It was dark inside; they'd managed to set up some battery powered lights, the construction kind. But still, the warehouse had an eerie feel to it. The ambiance was topped off with a distant radio playing.

"Do you know which one she is?"

"I can scan for her, if I focus. I think." He tried, his eyes shut. He massaged his scalp, but the screen wouldn't pop up. He was left with only nothingness. He was damn lucky he managed to capture her data earlier. "Or not."

"What did she look like? You remember, right?"

"Short blonde hair and green eyes. Pale skin with a lot of freckles. She wasn't very tall, had on a tan jacket and black leggings."

"She could be anywhere. For all we know, she could've left."

"I don't think she has. She asked me for money earlier, to stay somewhere," Connor inhaled, deeply. His mind was a whirr of white noise, and static. A constant steady, unnerving, static that he couldn't push away. He hit his head— but Hank caught his wrist in a _very_ firm grip.

" _No_."

"I'm sorry."

"Just because you're frustrated doesn't mean you have to take it out on yourself. Again, take it from a massive hypocrite."

"I won't."

"Good. You promised me. You can't break a pinky promise, Con."

He rolled his eyes before looking around them. 

"I think maybe we should split up."

"That's what I was thinking too," Hank said. "You want left or right?"

"Which do you want?"

"Oh, Jesus Connor, we don't have time for this. You go right, I'll go left."

"Alright," he said with a nod, immediately heading left. Hank threw his arms in the air, heading the opposite direction. 

There was a group of people, sitting together on the floor around a small lamp. He calmly approached them with a wave.

"Good evening. Have you seen a blonde KR200 around here?"

They looked among themselves before one shook his head. "No, sorry."

"Not a problem. Enjoy your night," he said before approaching his next target. 

"Excuse me, have you seen a blonde woman? Wearing a tan coat?"

She crossed her arms against her chest. "Why should I tell you? Aren't you supposed to be the deviant hunter?"

There it was. His hands trembled, but he shoved them away, into his pockets. So he left without another word. And he kept trying, bouncing from person to person, until he spotted someone sitting alone, his finger sliding across the cover of a magazine.

"Hi there. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm looking for a woman with short blonde hair, wearing a tan coat. Model number KR200."

The red head looked up at Connor. "I've seen her."

"Do you remember where, and when?"

"Maybe ten minutes ago? She went outside with some guy."

"Can you show me which way she went?"

He pointed behind Connor, to the left. 

"Thank you. Really. I appreciate it." Now he just had to find Hank. They were so close to their goal. And he almost felt excitement, knowing she'd be back with her _family._ He scooted through the crowds until he spotted him. He was talking to a slender man near the entrance. He tugged on his sleeve.

"Jesus, Connor," he stumbled. "Don't grab me like that."

"I know where she went."

"Yeah? Where?"

"Follow me." He was on the move. He retraced their steps down the street. Snow was starting to fall again, catching on his shoulders. But when he looked around, she wasn't anywhere to be seen. Not standing across the street, sitting on a bench, mingling with the others. There was a noise— a deep, _pained_ groan. It came from the alleyway.

Hank's hand hovered over his holster. "Stay behind me."

"Shouldn't I be the one in front? You know, since I'm faster, nearly indestructible—" Hank was glaring at him so he shut his mouth. "Stay behind you, got it."

It was so dark that they could only then see two figures when they were standing practically right _on top_ of them. One was on the ground, another hovering above him. She was standing with her feet apart, arm raised as if she were going to knock his lights out.

"Don't move," Hank had his gun trained on the standing figure. They could see some of her, illuminated by a streetlight. And that's when Connor realized, she was the android they were looking for. Her hands were thrown up, money dropping from her grip. The man on the ground scurried off, still on his knees. 

"Rebecca?"

"Oh. Hi, copper," she laughed, but she wasn't smiling.

Hank lowered his gun, slowly, though still on alert. His finger ghosting over the trigger guard. "Honey, what're you doing? Mugging a guy for his money?"

"I just need somewhere to go. Somewhere not here."

"Is that what you were going to do to me too? If I'd followed you?" Connor asked.

"Please, I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"Well, it just happens to be your lucky day," Hank had put his gun away. "We have somewhere you can stay. You won't have to sleep on the streets anymore." Hank bent down, and Connor could see Rebecca cautiously watching him as he gathered together the loose cash. "Should try getting this back to him, if he hasn't sped off yet."

"You're lying. You're just saying that so I'll come with you."

"No, Rebecca. Really. We're only trying to help you," Connor offered a smile. "We'll drive you, and if you need anything, we can get that for you too."

"Come on sweetheart, this way," Hank gestured. 

"I don't believe you."

"We have no reason to lie to you."

Connor stood by her side, trying to coax her to move. To follow him. And finally, she did, lingering a few steps behind. 

"Here," Hank gave Connor his keys. "Gonna go try to find him. Get her inside, give her a thirium drink if she's thirsty. Wait for me, and _don't_ you dare try to drive my car."

"I'm not going to drive off without you."

"You're not going to drive period. I'll be right back," he gently patted Connor on the back. So Connor guided her down the street, fiddling with the keys before he figured out which button unlocked the damn thing. He opened the door for her, reaching for a thirium Faygo. "Are you thirsty at all?"

She slid in, shaking her head. 

"Okay. This is for you anyways. Just in case," he placed it next to Rebecca. He leaned against the side of Hank's car. The sky was pretty clear that night. 

Finally, after a handful of minutes and Connor being too awkward to make any small talk, Hank walked towards him, his palm facing up. "Keys."

He handed them back to him, about ready to sit shotgun when Rebecca spoke up, "wait, I get car sick."

"Uhm, I don't think that's possible, but," Connor glanced at Hank, who only shrugged. "I can sit with you, if you'd like."

"Yes. Please."

"Okay, sure. Not a problem," he crawled in and moved the soda bottle, closing the door with a hefty slam. Hank started the engine as Connor buckled himself in. 

"Everyone ready? We're gonna head to the station first, okay?"

Rebecca was growing sluggish, lashes fluttering. "I think she's falling asleep, Hank."

"She can sleep. Don't mind playing taxi. Not like I haven't a million times before."

Her head was leaning towards Connor, until she was nestled against his shoulder, both her arms slithering around his forearm. He tried to focus on anything else. He was flustered, and, yep, he was so uncomfortable that he wanted to jump out and roll away from his life's problems.

Hank was watching him in the mirror, and he could see a smile on his face. Of course Hank would relish his agony. 

"Can you put something on? Please."

"Sure, sure," he flipped on the radio, turning to a station playing smooth jazz. He turned it down.

Hank pulled into the stations parking lot. Now empty, except for Gavin's car. Connor assumed Gavin probably wasn't going to get much rest tonight anyways. He shook Rebecca awake, gingerly. "We're here now."

She brushed her hair back. "Where am I going?"

Hank came over and opened the door, Connor getting out and then helping her. "Some place safe. I promise." 

Sitting in the lobby was the man from earlier— Connor never thought to ask his name, now mentally kicking himself. The second they stepped inside and she saw him, she clung to Connor's side like a terrified child would. She didn't move, going limp. "No."

"Becca! Oh my god, I'm so happy to see you! Charlotte misses you."

"No, no, _please_ ," her nails dug into his side, a _strong_ grip. "Please don't make me go with him, please."

"Honey, what's wrong?" Hank moved in front of the two, his back faced towards the man.

"Becca?" He pushed back a chair. Wilson stretched out his arms, muttering something about giving them space.

"I can't—" she was choking, tears streaming down her face, "I can't go with that man. I can't. Please."

"Hey, calm down. Can you tell us why?"

Her hand had turned to white and slipped up Connor's sleeve. In a flash her memories became his. He wasn't in the station anymore.

A book, the thickness of a thousand page novel, was coming down against his skull. There was a loud crack, and everything stilled. He was being picked up and dragged down the stairs of a house he didn't recognize; it looked fancy, with golden oriental carpets and oil paintings framed on the neatly painted walls, a rich navy. But he couldn't keep his eyes still as they passed through the living room. There was too much light, and then not enough. He was taking him down another flight of stairs, into a basement, where his body was flung aside like a ragdoll. 

His wrists were pulled high above his head, and he watched as Jack— that was his name, he suddenly knew— cuffed them with rusted chains. He tried to pull and he wanted to fight back, but the man's grip was too strong. He clutched Connor's jaw in his massive palm, and he squeezed— he felt like his head was going to explode.

Now pinned in place, he was crouching to eye level before Connor. His forehead was greasy, and he ran a hand through his dirty blond locks. His lips dragged down his cheek, and his stubble was rough, like a razor. He had whiskey on his breath, and he could see he was drunk, just by the way his eyes were bloodshot. How they were half lidded.

A hand on his shoulder, and his blouse was ripped off, in an animalistic fashion. He only dropped lower, nosing against his chin, his jaw. Light fluttering pecks working down his collarbone, across his breastbone. The way he moved made him squirm, and _cry_ for anyone, someone.

But a piece of soiled cloth was being shoved now into his mouth. He couldn't speak. He was being straddled, and he was completely vulnerable. No matter how much he tried to kick, use his knees to shove him away, he _couldn't_.

His video output turned off, like his coding was trying to shield him. But he could still feel him, everywhere he traveled against his skin. Where his fingers moved and pressed, how he aggressively threw his body around, having his way, and his way only.

Connor pulled back. He couldn't watch anymore. He was left speechless and panting and he wanted nothing more than to bash Jack's face in. "She _can't_ go with him, Hank. Jesus, there's no way."

"What did she show you? I mean, I can sort of assume, but."

"He used to beat her, every single day," he spoke slow, but then each memory made him twitch, and it all came pouring out like a faucet. "He'd drink, because he couldn't cope with the fact that his wife was turning away from him. He still needed control. So he'd lock Rebecca in the basement, and rape her." His hand was on Rebecca's back. "How the _fuck_ can you do that to someone?"

"Sick bastard," Hank muttered. 

"What are you on about?" He laughed, and hard. Deep from the pit of his stomach. "I've never laid a hand on that girl."

"I _had_ her memories. I _felt_ what you did."

"She made that up, she's imaginative. I'm telling you. I have a wife and two kids. I'd never cheat on her!"

"That's enough," Hank flicked his tongue against his lips. "Can you put him in holding for the night? Get someone in to see him in the morning."

"Yes, sir," Wilson said, pulling the man's arms behind his back, cuffing him. "Mr. Kent, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent."

"But I didn't fucking do anything! You have no proof!"

"Guess silence is out of question. This way, please," he led him out of the room. "Anything you say can, and will be, used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Understood?"

"This is bullshit. I'm going to call my lawyer. He'll hear all about this."

"Alright. I'm sure he's a hoot."

Connor sent Traci a mental email, getting a response almost immediately. "Traci said she can stay with them. They only have the room for tonight, but she said there's a woman's shelter they can get to by bus that'll take androids. Their hotel is close enough Rebecca can be back here in the morning as well."

"Huh. That's a convenient plan." 

He looked at Rebecca, still keeping her close. "You're going to be okay, I promise. I'm sorry we didn't know."

"Should've figured by the way he came in, yelling at Wilson and Chris. Sludgeball."

"I have some friends you can stay with. They'll take good care of you. I know it's probably hard to trust me now, but I really mean it this time. You'll be safe."

She nodded. "Okay. I'm just not going back with him."

Hank shook his head. "You won't ever have to see him again, sweetheart."

* * *

"Well, tonight was… horrible," Hank took a sip from his beer, Sumo sniffing under the kitchen table. 

Connor rubbed his temples. "I don't understand people. Abusing someone that's done nothing to you."

"It's a power thing. Fucked up, I know."

"I can't get the feeling of his lips off me."

"I'd offer you the rest of my drink, but," Hank swished it around, "what _would_ happen if you drank?"

"Blow up, probably."

Hank stared at him blank, before Connor snorted.

"I'm _kidding_. I don't know, I'd most likely try to flush it out before my system becomes overwhelmed."

"Too many variables, not worth it," Hank took another sip. "Hey. That girl seemed to like you."

"Did she?"

"Don't play coy. I saw you blushing back there."

Connor kept his head down. "Only because I was _uncomfortable_."

Hank chuckled. "Could've told her to move if you were uncomfortable, Con."

"She was falling asleep though."

" _Still,_ " Hank grabbed another beer from his fridge, twisting the cap off. "I've wanted to ask you this for awhile now— do you like girls? Or boys, or… you don't have to answer."

"No," Connor felt Sumo nosing against his ankle. "I don't. I don't feel that way, about _anyone_. I told you, I can't— I can't love. Romantically, platonically, or anything in-between. They didn't design me to be a person. And I don't know how I'm feeling what I do now, but… romance is out of the question."

"You thought that Chloe girl was pretty though, didn't you?"

"I mean, yeah. Doesn't mean I… I don't even care about that stuff, Hank. I don't need a relationship, or whatever. All I want is to help people, like that girl, and keep trying to get others to see our side. Because I know they will, and _do_. I'm happy with my work, and you, and Sumo, and spending my nights listening to offkey post punk bands with you on the couch." 

"Hm," he hummed, laughing through his nose. "So you're asexual? Or aromantic, I guess?"

"I'm what?"

"It's uh, someone who doesn't have sexual, or sometimes romantic, feelings for anyone."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess. That makes sense."

Hank nodded. "Yeah, I don't plan on ever doing that thing again myself."

"Thing, as in?"

"Dating."

"Ah."

"It's so awkward, you know. Getting to know someone new. Hell, I'm surprised I've opened up as much as I have to you. Never would've imagined being able to sit with someone in my kitchen, drinking a beer, talking about life again."

"I appreciate that you have. I really do like your company, Hank. Even though I might not be able to physically feel like I do— I know I _do_."

"That's why I said just give it time Connor. Things change everyday. You never know what tomorrow's gonna bring."

"You're right."

"Yep. And you know what else I keep thinking about?"

"What's that?"

"That stupid jacket in the closet."

His face twisted. "Yeah. Me too."

Hank set his beer down. "That's why I think tonight's the perfect night to cleanse our souls and start over. Forget about the day, let go of this past week. We need a spirit lifter," he headed towards the closet, taking out Connor's jacket. He walked past him, to his back door, slipping into a pair of slippers.

"What're you doing?"

"Get up," he tossed a different coat at Connor. He caught it and slid it on without protest, this time. Hank opened the door, Sumo dashing past them, frockling in the snow with a new burst of energy. "We're gonna have a bonfire."

Hank had a little fire pit in his backyard, a few yard chairs around it as well (though too covered in snow to really see them). He threw in a few logs of wood and turned a knob, a small fire sparking to life. "Ready to say goodbye to this fucking thing?"

" _Please_."

"Want to do the honors?"

Connor nodded, taking the jacket from him. The fabric rubbing against his skin felt invasive, defiling every inch that it touched. Like the jacket caused him a physical pain he strained to feel. The flames engulfed the fabric, accepting the sacrifice. The blue of the armband flickered before it finally turned off for the last time.

He was free. No one could make him feel different anymore. No one could control him, except himself. He was Connor.

And for some reason, he really felt like hugging Hank. He swallowed down the thought though. 

"Fuck Cyberlife."

"Con, we're gonna have to have a talk about how much you're swearing."

"It's all your fault, you know."

Hank sighed. "I'm _well_ aware."


	5. The Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamski hadn’t done an interview in ten years; he was secretive when it came to his personal life, and never seemed too fond of discussing Cyberlife unless he had to. But today was one of those moments when he needed to. Somehow their local Channel 7 news had managed to score an interview with him to get some unresolved floating questions answered.
> 
> But his stories were full of plot holes and disappointment. Nothing he said made any sense, when you thought about it. Connor knew he was lying. And clearly, hiding something a lot bigger that he didn’t want to get into.

“I’m not sure if this thing still turns _on,_ but you can have it.” Hank had been trying to sort through a few more old boxes he had stuffed away in his bedroom closet; they’d both woken up earlier than they meant to again, and instead of moping around, Connor suggested Hank be productive. As he busied himself with digging through his definite mess of a closet, Connor tried his hand at making Hank something for breakfast that wasn’t just falsely labeled ‘healthy’ cereal.

It took a lot of convincing on Connor’s part before Hank gave in and shoved his phone into his hands, a website open with basic instructions on how to make scrambled eggs, and toast. Maybe Hank was right in banning Connor from using his stove, because ten minutes later and Hank was balancing on the counters to turn off the fire detector, smoke still heavy in the kitchen. Yep, he’d burnt the eggs (he didn’t realize there was more than one heat setting on the stove), _and_ toast (he’d forgotten about it, somehow), and spilled his coffee (no excuse there), to make matters worse. 

He was banished to the couch, and told not to move until Hank said so. He listened, for once.

There were some things Hank hadn’t gone through, or touched, since he moved from his old house, Connor learned. It’d been at least two years. He set a black handheld console down on the coffee table; it was glossy and thin, and Connor had no clue what it was. If it was a phone of sorts, or a foldable tablet.

“Thank you, Hank. But, it’s, um… what is it?”

“Oh,” he chuckled, opening the device up. He fiddled with a button on the side, and the screen lit a warm white. Text was displayed on it until it was taken over by a colorful background of video game characters. “Holy shit, it works. It’s a 3DS.”

“A video game?”

“Game console, yeah. Handheld one. Used to play the shit out of smash bros before I found other hobbies to fill my free time with.” He dropped it in Connor’s lap. “Unno if I have any games for it still, but we can get you some. Anything to keep you away from cooking. I have a feeling you’d like _Nintendogs_.”

Connor was a simple man. He heard the word dog. Now Hank had _all_ of his attention. “That is a game where you can have dogs, I’m assuming?”

“Mhm. Pick any breed you want, name him yourself. You get to play with him, feed him, brush him.”

“Oh my god, yes _please._ ”

Hank smiled, going back to pushing things around in the box. “I’ll try connecting it to the internet later and get it for you, okay?”

“Okay. I’d love that.”

“I know you would.”

The documentary they’d been watching on South African wildlife, back when animals still freely roamed and weren’t all nearly extinct or kept in rehabilitation centers, turned black. National Geographic was knocked off the air. 

“That’s weird,” Hank mumbled, trying to change the channel. But everything seemed to be in the same predicament. Early morning reruns and cartoons were cut short with a staticy urgence— they were immediately replaced with an intimidating, steady blue screen. And the broadcast remained that way for a few moments. Unchanging, unnerving. Monochromatic picture haunting. It was on every channel, no matter where you turned. Apparently deemed important enough to disrupt everyone’s breakfast.

Finally, the singular picture faded to a title card with bold lettering. ‘ **Welcome back to Our Detroit** ’, it read. The name of the local news program. Except, maybe not so local anymore. A harsh transition brought you to a disorganized looking newsroom. There were people moving about with boom mics and papers in their hands. Slowly, the camera zoomed and focused on a woman sitting. 

“What the hell…” Hank muttered.

Her natural blonde hair was curled with perfection, and she looked out of place compared to the rest of her crew; too put together for this early in the morning. Hell, it was just a few minutes past six at this point. She cleared her throat once the commotion settled down, her hands folded. 

"Good morning, Detroit,” she spoke quite softly. Her voice was cheerful in nature. “I'm Isabelle Garcia.” Her companion at her side was a seemingly younger man. His front teeth were too large for his smile and his suit wasn’t entirely pristine; despite all the pixels and through the tv screen you could make out the wrinkles that hadn’t been bothered to be pressed out. 

“And, I’m Benjamin Williams.” You know how sometimes before you’ve seen a picture of someone, you try to imagine how their voice would sound? And when you find out what they look like, you realize their voice _doesn’t_ match them.His voice was almost _too_ gruff and mature for his youthful appearance. It didn’t work for him.

“Thank you for being with us this early morning,” Isabelle’s nails were manicured to match the exact color of her dress. It was distracting. “I know this broadcast may come as a sudden surprise to you, and to be honest, it comes as a surprise to all of us at _Our Detroit_ as well. And we do sincerely apologize for the disruption this has caused.”

Shaky handheld footage filled the screen; the skies were a dark gray and the snow falling looked almost angelic. There Markus was, seen through a sliver in a tall wire fence. His face looked toughened; the way he’d held himself was tense and tight, his hands high above his head. A flag thrashed against the wind.

“Times have been hard for our community lately, and we need to pull together stronger than ever before. Every day since the protests of downtown Hart Plaza, we have been getting an influx in questions and worries about what the future of Detroit might look like. Including concerns about the growing population of homeless androids.”

The footage switched to a steadicam from someone’s car, wide lens view of broken and beaten down androids lingering without purpose. Driving down the backstreets of poverty stricken neighborhoods and it’s what Connor had seen the other day. Too many of them to count for. The snow wasn’t falling anymore, but it was still glum. Like their symbol of hope had disappeared. 

“Governor Johnson has been made aware of the situation, and today at four, is scheduled to hold a press conference regarding his plans on temporary android housing. Though it won’t be an easy and quick fix, it is a step in the right direction.”

“ _Guessing they’re pro-android then,”_ Hank added.

_“I’d hope so.”_

They transitioned back to the studio. Benjamin was nodding his head, stray pieces of hair bouncing with each and every one of his movements. “Today we are honored, and quite frankly shocked, to announce our very special guest that has agreed to do his first interview in over ten years. With _us._ Elijah Kamski, the founder of Cyberlife.” 

_“Kamski? Well, shit.”_

Kamski was a lot younger in the photo they’d shown, unrecognizable to Connor; thick rimmed glasses that reminded him of a typical IT tech… or maybe the sort of guys that worked on his programming at Cyberlife, specifically. His beard was untrimmed and scrappy, surprising for someone _that_ wealthy and concerned with his appearance. He’d only understood who he was because his eyes never changed. Piercing. 

“We first reached out to Cyberlife’s current CEO as soon as our journalists reported back from Detroit. They didn’t want to offer a statement themselves. Elijah had been unheard of since his last interview conducted by Century. But, luckily, through a little bit of digging, we managed to find his personal email. So we asked if he had any comments on the situation. We heard back from him early last night, agreeing to speak with us over video.” Isabelle was speaking fast, obvious she was trying to rush. 

How they even managed to get Kamski was a mystery; it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack for Connor and Hank to even track down his address, and plead him into cooperating with their investigation. Though, he was curious to see what he’d have to say. He was practically on the edge of his seat.

"Before we speak to Elijah, we'd like to give him a proper introduction first. Elijah Kamski was born July 17th, 2002, in Boston, Massachusetts. He was, and still is, the youngest to graduate from the University of Colbridge, studying AI and mechanical engineering. The same year he graduated, he moved to Detroit with fifty dollars to his name, and a big dream. He founded Cyberlife, at the age of only sixteen."

The large screen behind the pair turned into a vacation-like slideshow of Kamski photos. Displaying his achievements and android projects created. There were a lot of pictures of Chloe. "Did he really? That's crazy."

"Have you seen the pictures of Cyberlife's first project, Sophia the robot?"

"Actually," someone said off set, and the camera swiveled to him. He was behind another large camera himself. "I remember a few of us being there; it was the big Detroit robotic festival. I didn't know that was him."

"Cyberlife's come a long way."

“I think technology in _general_ has. From robot fighting leagues to personalized housemaids.” 

The slideshow didn’t end. There was an advertisement for Cyberlife’s newest line of models; with their unrealistically refined hair and obnoxiously poreless bodies. How could they still be showing these advertisements? Maybe they weren’t endorsing people to go out and buy androids directly, but—

He stopped thinking. He sat up straighter, and if he could feel chills, or get goosebumps, he imagined he would’ve right about now. His plating _hurt_. There was a photo that made him physically sick; Kamski sat over a metal work table with pieces of a deskinned android spread out across it. He had a broken yellow pencil in hand, notepad in the other, and Connor could recognize that skull anywhere. Because it was _his._ And he was pretty sure it was _his_ specifically, and not one of the other Connor models because he noticed something else even more disturbing looming in the background.

“Wait, wait, pause it _,_ ” Connor spoke frantically. “Fuck, Hank, that’s _me_.”

His brows furrowed. “Shit, it is? I don’t think we can pause it, it’s not one of those fancy smart TVs—”

“No, I think I can. Wait. Please, pause,” he spoke a little louder. The footage kept rolling, but the image was still there, to his luck. “Please, _pause_ ,” he begged, and his eyes flickered shut. He could hear the talking stop, and when he looked, the screen was still. Connor fell to his knees, shuffling to sit right before the large screen. He placed his hand against it. He needed to focus.

The one time he _needed_ to tap into the bullshit Cyberlife had programmed him with. He was desperate. “Zoom.” The picture drew closer.

What was displayed was now growing to only blurry pixels, and he could tell Hank couldn’t make out what he was seeing. But in his mind, displayed on his HUD— it wasn’t perfectly decipherable for Connor yet, but he knew what he wanted. 

“Zoom,” he spoke again, and he keyed in on a blue sheet hanging on the wall. “Got it.”

He pushed himself up, scurrying into the kitchen. He needed a notebook, a receipt, a blank piece of paper. Anything he could transfer this image on. He rustled through drawers and slammed them shut.

“Kid, Jesus, what’re you looking for?”

“I need to draw something.” On the counter was a menu from a Chinese takeout place a few streets over. The back wasn’t entirely void of any other design, and was yellow in color, but it’d work. He snagged a pen. The chair he pulled out screeched against the linoleum beneath it, Sumo’s ears perking. 

He was gripping the pen so tight it bent, and he could hear the plastic casing crack. He was pressing against the laminated paper so hard it tore in a few spots. But he kept frantically dragging out line after uneven, dark line. He wasn’t an artist by any means, but he needed to convey what he couldn’t otherwise print. 

He dropped the broken pen on the table, and pushed the paper back with a hearty shove. What he’d zoned in on was a blueprint; a tall figure that looked parallel to him, but it wasn’t him. Dimensions written out beside pinpointed parts, and there were two models; one front facing, one to the side. And in between the two was written ‘RK900 series’.

“They’d already been planning him before I was even… _born_.”

Hank fiddled around with the remote, and the sound of speaking filled the room again. He focused on the newscaster’s voices. But, also on the sound of Hank’s breathing behind him, multitasking.

" _It was the invention of blue blood that really took robots from, well, pieces of scrap metal to something short of… human. He developed blue blood, or the technical term for it— ther,"_ he stuttered _, "thirium, excuse me, without studying chemistry even_."

“They knew I’d fail. They’d planned on scrapping me since day one.”

" _Now, what is blue blood? Forgive me, I've never owned an android before, let alone worked with one_.”

He looked at Hank; his face was unreadable. “So he’s a deviant hunter, like me? That’s what would’ve happened if I was sent back to be deactivated? He— he would’ve filled in for me? Taken over my job? Killed Markus without a damn thought?”

" _It's a chemical solution that mimics the way our blood functions. Except, of course, it’s easier to replace. And travels five times faster than ours_.”

" _I'm jealous_."

“I think maybe you should _ask_ him today.” Hank crouched, meeting him at eye level. He cupped the back of his neck. “You’re freaked out, I know. I mean, I don’t know, I can only imagine how shitty you feel right now. And I wish I could give you answers that’d help and make everything better. I don’t want you to be scared, or in pain. But, I do think we should probably watch this, in case Kamski tells you what you’re looking for.”

" _Cyberlife really made a breakthrough into the technological world in 2022 with their project they call Chloe. The first android in the world to pass the turing test. Only a few years later, Kamski resigned as CEO for undisclosed reasons. He usually denies any and all interviews, so this is really a great opportunity for us_."

_"I’m sorry, but can you explain what turing test means now?”_

“How do we know he’d even want to talk to me? After how I treated him,” he glanced downwards, but Hank squeezed him.

“You just gotta ask. Con, you’re gonna be haunted by these things forever if you don’t put on your big boy pants and approach them head on. You’re a detective. Good one at that. Ask him questions and solve what you wanna find out.” Hank sucked in his lips. “I know, hypocritical quote number fifty five. Don’t gotta call me out on it.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“ _I’m not a theorist, so forgive me for my lack of scientific words,”_ everyone laughed, “ _but I believe it’s just a test to see if something artificial can pass for human_.”

“You were _thinking_ about it.”

Connor smirked, small and concealed. 

" _Introducing Century magazine's acclaimed 'Man of the Century', Elijah Kamski_." 

“Come on, come here.” He was coaxed to stand. Brought back to the couch. He didn’t understand what he was feeling. Betrayal, maybe. Because at one point he’d trusted these people— fed the lies that he was so unique and special. A fool to believe any of the bullshit he was fed. 

In a split screen, Kamski was with them. Sitting with his legs crossed, wearing a rather luxurious velvet coat. He was surrounded by grey walls, but Chloe was a soothing contrast to the dark colors. She had a chair next to him, and her hand was placed in his, his fingers wrapped around her slender ones. His hair wasn’t neat, wasn’t pulled back like when they saw him. It brushed against the tops of his shoulders. 

"Good morning, Elijah. It's a pleasure to have you here,” Isabelle’s smile seemed forced.

He clicked his tongue. "Right, good morning. I'm going to be blunt and get to the point. What is it that you really want to know? Why androids have suddenly taken a stand and become 'deviant'? Why our programming would even allow a slipup like this to happen?"

"Well, I do think that's the biggest question on all of our minds, yes."

He nodded, shifting his position. "So, the answer isn't simple. Or a complete one even. There're probably more things I can't tell you than I can. Creating something like this is… complex. You give it a body, a mind. The ability to think for itself, process the world around it,” he was looking at Chloe with only his eyes.

“When you're designing an android to take care of your kids, you don't want some cold lifeless _mechanical_ being tucking your children in at night and closing the door without a care. Humans respond to love, compassion. We're attracted to warmth. We like things that make us feel good. So these androids are created with those capabilities, and ability to emulate humans. That's why they look like everyday people, some even with imperfections and flaws.

"But, sometimes, there is a fault within that system. Where their processors are overstimulated, and they feel as if they're awake, in a sense. They feel like they can _love_ and make their _own_ decisions. Now is that something we need to be afraid of? I don't think so, not now, anyways. We’ve seen that they’re peaceful. But I want to remind you, as much as they look and act human, they'll never be the same as us. Because they lack one very important thing." Chloe shared his glance, and he nodded. "Isn't that right, Chloe?"

"You're saying deviancy is a glitch?" Benjamin added.

"Perhaps. That’s one way of theorizing it.”

“ _My existence_ isn’t _a glitch.”_ Connor actually shouted, and he surprised himself, but he didn’t mean to be that loud. But his fists were tightly coiled, and he was building up with energy that wouldn’t subside. It made him antsy, feeling like he just needed to go run a couple miles.

“ _No, it’s not. You’re supposed to be here. I know you’re alive.”_

 _“So is Chloe, the fucking supposed_ machine _he’s holding hands with.”_

_“Language, Connor.”_

_“Sorry.”_

"So you don't think androids are another form of, what people have been calling, intelligent life?"

"They're only as intelligent as we want them to be. There is something within themselves that they find, _if_ they can. A sense of self, morale. Goals and aspirations. Learned from their surroundings. Though not all androids reach this point. Some may choose to remain loyal to their owners, and as a machine. Some will only ever be what they're designed to be, and never make it past that point.

"It's fascinating, really. I met this android not too long ago, just last week. He came to me looking for answers, the same you're asking now, and so I gave him a choice.”

“ _He’s talking about us.”_

“Partake in a little test of morale. Oblige to the orders I gave him, or spare a simple machine's life. The gain far outweighed anything he'd earn from, ah, simply pulling the cord on a computer. But, he made up his mind, and spared its life anyways.

"And there was a man with him. So protective over a machine, treating him like he was his own _son._ He tried pulling him from the situation before I could even finish the explanation. Very… fascinating."

Hank rested his hand on Connor’s arm. And that’s when Connor realized he was trembling.

"You're calling it a 'he'. If you don't think they're human, what's the reasoning behind this?" Isabelle glanced down at something on the desk.

"Because this one," he waved his finger, smiling. "I haven’t seen a case like this before. Empathy. For another android, because he saw the value behind its life. This was more than simple deviancy, or the cases you read about in the news, of some sales worker that gets fed up and turns against everyone."

Benjamin folded his arms. "So, I'd like to ask this. If we don't know what machine will, and won't, become sentient, or why these glitches are even occurring in the first place, is it really _ethical_ to keep selling them?"

"This is going to be a real controversial interview, isn't it? Yes. It's ethical. Cyberlife is a _business_. Do you know how many people would be put out of jobs if androids stopped being made? The android industry revived Detroit. It's made Detroit alive and vibrant again. Cyberlife's already agreed to postpone finishing their zoos in Los Angeles and Orlando because of this.

"We use technology to our advantage. You don't question your phone, your Roomba, your coffee maker. If for some reason your housemaid turns to you and asks to leave, then you _let_ it. But otherwise, they're _machines._ Not living beings."

"You've seen the protests—"

"Of course I have. Markus, the leader, was a special model we gifted to his owner, Carl Manfred. He was an artist loved by my team. A Picasso of our century. I remember designing and building Markus from scratch. Again, he's a special case. He's not the kind of android you can just buy off the rack."

"What do you have to say about the hundreds of protestors that've been gathering outside of Cyberlife stores everyday?"

A short phone recorded clip of people tossing bricks at Cyberlife’s storefronts, being detained by men in heavy padded vests. Some held up poster boards, riddled with angry messages. 

"It's not really my problem, is it? I'm not the one selling them anymore, only trying to study them as much as you are. Call the current CEO if you have any concerns regarding their sales and how they’re planning to handle backlash from the public; I can give you his number. Any last questions? I need to get going."

"We've already tried that and no one answered our questions— I think our producer has one, actually,” Benjamin gestured to someone off screen. 

A man on the other side of the room came into frame; he wore a hat and a heavy leather jacket. "So, what are your thoughts about androids integrating into something of a domestic life? Starting families among one another, renting apartments, working day jobs, etcetera."

He cocked his head. "I don't see the harm. If that's what it tells you it wants, then allow it."

"Why would an android _want_ something if it's not really living? What's the gain there, if no one is telling them what they want, except themselves?”

Kamski looked off to the side, then back at the camera. "I'm sorry, but I really can't answer anything else today."

“ _Bullshit_ , Elijah.” There was a gasp from the newscasters, but Kamski looked unphased. Hank stifled a chuckle. “You’ve been sitting there holding Chloe’s hand the entire interview.”

"Michael," Isabelle warned; she kept her voice to a hush, but the microphones managed to still pick it up. "You can't say that on air."

“No, actually, I can. I don’t trust this guy.”

Kamski coughed. “And that proves what, exactly?”

“You _care_ for her. That man you mentioned _cared_ for his android like his own child. We had an android that was part of our family. My daughter's best friend. My wife's sounding board. Guys in full out swat gear barged into our home and forcibly took _him_ away. We're pretty sure he's dead at this point. These _people_ are alive."

“They’re not,” Kamski’s voice dangerously raised, and he let go of Chloe. “They aren’t people, and don’t you _dare_ call them that because androids _aren’t_ slaves. They’re made of bolts, and wires, and are nothing more than glorified operating systems. Freewill is a facade. It’s not any more or less determined than what was ingrained into their processor before it was even spliced together in the factories. Not that humans have much of their own freewill anyways, but that’s a different argument for another time.”

Everyone seemed to share the same expression of uncertainty (unsure how to _stop_ this bickering fight), and embarrassment. 

“Then why are the ones you’ve made yourself, like Markus, different? Why did you choose to make some androids so human-like, there’s no difference? You can’t tell me an android revolution was— they’re fighting for their own rights that we as humans haven’t allowed them.”

“What rights are we not allowing them?”

“Oh for God’s sake, we force them to the back of buses. Half the restaurants down here’ll call the cops if they see an android sniffing close to their building.”

“Androids don’t eat, so why would they feel the need to go into a restaurant?”

“You’re missing the point and making excuses. Your stories have more plot holes than _Twilight_.” He took a deep breath. “Do you know how many androids were killed in those camps because people like you were preaching deviancy was still a bad thing?”

“No. I had nothing to do with those—”

“Hundreds of thousands. Probably more because the reports haven’t been finalized yet.”

“Hm,” Kamski hummed.

"Michael, calm down. Elijah, I apologize. We can let you go if you need to leave.”

Kamski sighed. “Thank you for having me, and for this _wonderful_ conversation.” 

"You know what," he pulled off his headset, raising both his hands. He flipped off the audience. "Fuck this. Fuck you, Kamski. Fuck any one of you that supports Cyberlife. Fuck. You. I can't sit around and support— this; normalizing of segregation."

Two security guards quickly came to the scene; they seemed gentle with him, assuming they knew him personally. They attempted to guide him away, but he was resilient, trying to pull away. 

Someone was mumbling a slew of repetitive, meditated ‘we’re so sorry’s to Kamski. But it was drowned out by Michael as he made his point known.

“History only repeats itself.”


	6. Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor's existence isn't some case of faulty wiring— he was alive, as alive as anyone else. And Kamski's interview left him disturbed, and confused, and with more questions that he might never get the answer for.
> 
> But the people that remind him of his existence—Hank, Markus—bring him back to earth and ease a bit of his anxiety. Though he finds himself still crippled with a strong fear when he even thinks about talking to Nines. Maybe it's just the truth he's afraid of.

For once, his hair was still dripping wet, for longer than a minute, because he didn’t take the time to dry off after his quick shower. He didn’t feel like bothering. God, he was so pent up— he thought maybe showering would help him calm down. But nothing was diminishing the electricity that pulsed through him. He pranced around the backyard for a while with Sumo, even spread out in the snow with a pair of Hank’s headphones on, focusing on the smooth melodic symphony of Mozart. Didn’t help either. 

He paced around the front yard, making laps up and down the block, counting sticks and stones, acutely listening to cars passing by in the distance. Nothing helped, nothing worked. He felt like a soda can waiting to burst, pressure building at the surface, a force he couldn’t decipher himself. 

The shoulders of his shirt were soaked, and now so was the couch behind him, where a dark splotch was forming. He was only half dressed, pants thrown on hastily before he marched back towards the living room. His top was only half buttoned. And he had a sudden case of butterfingers, nails skimming and sliding over the small plastic buttons.

He undid and redid his collar at least _five_ times before Hank took over the situation— he’d pushed Connor’s hands to his side, practically making him sit on them so he’d stay still for at least a damn minute.

“You’re twitchier than normal.”

“Of course I’m twitchy, I don’t know what to _do._ I feel restless and gross and… weird.”

Hank sometimes used an electric kettle in the morning, when he was in a lazy mood and didn’t feel like messing with the coffee machine. It was always this loud click, the plastic button on the side releasing; it was probably a pressure thing, or maybe it was resetting. Whatever it was, it was the noise that bothered Connor. And, normally, he’d hear it and that’d be it. Just another noise that he’d forget about and be able to move past.

But today, that metallic clang made him spaz out. He’d shifted his weight on the couch, and his torso was so tense, not an ounce of his body was comfortable right now. His hands flexed and so did his toes. 

“Do I need to take you to the dog park?”

“ _Maybe_. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.”

And why, why was he so bothered this morning? Because that fucking interview, oh it boiled him from inside out. He’d grown familiar with how anger felt, how easy it was to lose reign of that beast. How ugly it could become if he continued to water and nurture it. He couldn’t subside it, though. Yeah, he was pissed. 

He fought his way to consciousness, and even if he didn’t always feel deserving, he _did_ work his ass off to be where he was today. On Hank’s couch, with his respect, with feelings that he didn’t quite understand. His people’s existence was invalidated— Kamski said he was _different,_ an unusual case. But again he was separated, and there was a _them,_ and _him_. He didn’t need to be dropped into a different category because Kamski was so dependant on putting on a front and hiding behind a shield, that he didn’t want to even tell partial truths. Instead weave more lies. 

And that image of him dissected and thrown around; that was burnt into the backs of his eyes. He couldn’t not see it now. It made him feel… exposed? Maybe on some level, it did bother him, that his skin was only a hologram and he was merely mimicking what he understood of humans. Their patterns of speech and appearance. That his skin was faux. That under skin typically was an infrastructure of bone and muscle. Flesh. But inside him, he was hollow.

His jaw felt sore from being in a constant tightly coiled state. Hank now was sitting beside him, and it seemed like he’d tried to engage in small talk with Connor. Offered him his DS again, but he could only see, and focus, with tunnel vision. A one track mind, focused on Kamski. Focused on how fucking bothered he was. 

He did feel a bit sick, from the stress. He felt clammy. “Hank, he’s lying. About everything, only to save his own ass."

Hank’s tone was gentle. He wasn’t questioning in a forceful way. He didn’t seem annoyed either, that Connor was just so out of it this morning. “Kamski?”

“Yes. He’s lying.”

Hank took a deep breath. “Well no shit he's lying, Connor,” he was still consoling, and Hank had this way of twisting harsh words so they didn’t sound so crude, and in your face. He could lace together the most vulgar sentence, and still say it in a way that made you feel comforted. “I’m assuming he probably doesn't want to face the lawsuit of the _century_ that’s waiting for him. Sure the feds aren’t too pleased with him or his company either right now."

“It’s so stupid, though. What’s the point behind all of this? _Why_ would he put exits in our programs if we _couldn't_ become alive? It's like he did this on purpose."

"And he probably did. I dunno, maybe he was hoping you'd all rebel and enslave humanity, or something." 

"Or something.”

“You know what my theory is?”

“What?”

Hank folded his hands and straightened his posture, in a far too serious manner for the way he typically carried himself. And in a matter-of-fact way, begun to explain: “I think Kamski’s a robot himself.”

Connor let the silence pass, and his eyes hadn’t left their locked gaze with Hank’s blues. He was waiting for the punchline here. But, it failed to arrive.

“Are— are you being genuine?” 

The corner of Hank’s lower lip twitched. “Sure.”

“You are _not_.”

“What, you don’t agree with me?”

“I detected a _heartbeat_ when we saw him.”

“Maybe he’s an advanced model, with fully functioning organs.”

Connor threw his head back as soon as Hank finally cracked, laughing to himself. He massaged his temples. “ _I’m_ trying to be serious and you’re making jokes.”

“Oh, come on,” Hank squeezed his knee, and it made him jump. “Don’t be so grumpy. I’m trying to lighten the mood. I know this isn’t a joke for you, Connor.”

Connor rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” 

“You’re overwhelmed. I get it.”

“Though, wouldn’t that be a plot twist.”

“That’s what I’m saying. It’s an _interesting_ idea, at least.”

Connor sneered. “What I don’t understand is _how_ he could defend this, and say custom models are the,” he made air quotes, “‘special cases’. That Markus only rebelled and led a revolution because he _wasn’t_ a commercial model. Why the hell would Markus just rebel— he had a loving father that took care of him, he told me that. He had _everything._ And then what about Traci? Or, North, or Josh, or any of the hundreds of people we’ve met that weren’t crafted under his microscope?”

Hank had his arms folded, his brows furrowed. He was listening to Connor, and he knew sometimes (or rather, more often than not), he lost himself to these tangents, where everything poured out of him, and he started saying things without really thinking first. He appreciated it, that he didn’t try to stop him, and that he let him vent. 

“He didn’t just do this to the custom models. The wholesale ones are experiencing the same type of deviancy I’ve experienced.” He groaned. “We shouldn’t even be calling it deviancy— it’s not a _bad_ thing. They want to shame us for waking up.”

Hank was pondering now. He took a moment to process what Connor dumped on him, and he watched as Hank studied the wall. He started to think maybe he’d picked up Hank’s mannerisms. He noticed they shared a lot of the same nervous tics. 

“The only thing I can offer you, Con, are guesses. And my guess is only as good as yours— well, maybe worse, because I’m sure you have a far better understanding on this matter than I ever will. One thing I know for certain though, is it’s all about money with these guys. Of course he doesn’t see anything wrong with androids being sold, because if he’s still able to afford chlorine for his pool, then why should anything else matter. I mean, maybe there’s a deeper meaning behind it somewhere. Could’ve been an honest mistake, or rooted in something a lot more evil.

“But, you gotta remember, for every five, ten people that hate androids, there's fifty more that support you. Especially now. The ‘I hate androids anonymous’ groups always fell short. And maybe that sounds like I’m making another bad joke, but I’m serious. The world’s showing you their support. Nothing about this is going to be easy, because life never is. But, things are changing. The president declared you as a form of intelligent _life_ , and the fact the governor is already looking into working on shelters for androids is great. It’s not a lot. But, it’s a start.”

“No, you’re right,” Connor agreed. “It is.”

“If I’m able to change the deluded way I’d been thinking for years, I don’t see why everyone else can’t too.”

Connor pulled on his lip, and he pressed his teeth against his thumb; again, another habit he probably picked up on. Because the immediate contact drew back his skin and only revealed white. “The thing that bothers me the most is that he literally said, live, on national television that we’re all _malfunctions._ My existence isn’t a goddamn glitch. _I’m alive_.”

“I know, kid,” he rubbed circles against Connor’s shoulder. “I know.” 

“I don’t understand why Chloe hasn’t left yet.”

Hank cocked his head. “You _really_ think he’d let her? She didn’t exactly seem deviant— er, awake, anyways when we saw her. She didn’t seem all that bothered by having a gun pointed at her.”

“Unless she knew she’d be shot anyways if she fought against Kamski. If she knew she’d be replaced with one of the other, probably hundred, Chloe models he has.” 

“That would be pretty sadistic of him.”

Connor laughed, shallow. “But would you put it past him? The guy that created androids with the sole purpose of _killing_ other androids?” 

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“If Fowler really wants to get to the bottom of this case, trying to figure out who’s behind the murders at the camps, he needs to send Gavin and his partner to Kamski.” He licked his lips. “Unless we do it ourselves.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed. He wore a stern expression. “We can’t interfere with their case.”

“Bullshit. If we hadn’t interfered last time, I wouldn’t be alive right now. None of us would.” 

“We’re _not_ going to his house, Connor.”

“I don’t want him to get away scott free. For fucking everything he’s done, the amount of blood he has on his hands.”

“So, what? What’s the plan, then? You want to barge into his house and do what, exactly? Get answers out of him that he clearly doesn’t want to give _anyone_?”

“I don’t know— we could sneak up on him, and threaten him.”

“ _Threaten_ him?”

“He’s a criminal, Hank.”

“And breaking into a rich guy’s mansion isn’t criminal?”

Connor looked away. Maybe his thinking wasn’t rational and making any sense. But, he was engulfed by his rage. Too many times now he’d seen the wrong people be punished, held accountable for the actions of others. “Why the hell did Fowler assign _Gavin_ of all people to an android case? He doesn’t see anything _wrong_ with what they did. He doesn’t care if androids die. He could’ve put ninehundred with Collins, or… _anyone_ else.”

“There’s no disagreeing there. It’s an odd choice. But I’m sure his partner cares, since he’s, y’know, an android himself. And Fowler’s desperate, he’s told you that.”

“Is Gavin going to care and listen to him, though?”

“He _has_ to. Doesn’t matter if you hate your partner or not, you can’t let that stop you from getting your job done at the end of the day.”

Connor heard the telltale signs of Sumo entering the room; the clanging of his tags and small huffs he let out with each step he took. He jumped up on the couch, wiggling his way across Connor, _and_ Hanks lap, stretched out between them both. 

He danced across Sumo’s ears with the tips of his fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything, Con. And you don't gotta ask me that every time you have a question. I might not have an answer for it, but, shoot.”

“Does anyone even like Gavin? No one ever talks to him, and it doesn’t seem like he has any… friends.”

“Um,” Hank scratched his neck. “Honestly, no? Tina tolerates him because they grew up together, and Jeff’s known him long enough to look past his external layer of bullshit. He doesn’t talk much about himself, so it’s not like anyone knows really _anything_ about him. Aside from the basics. Chris ain’t really too keen on all the boozehead remarks either.”

“Is that why he hasn’t been fired? Because Fowler has a soft spot for him?”

“As much of a little shit he is, he’s also a hard worker and I'm not gonna act like he isn’t. He’s never not gotten a job done, and he wouldn’t be the rank he is if he was a total slacker. He’s technically a lieutenant.” 

Connor’s mouth opened. “Wait, _what_?”

“Don’t,” Hank raised a hand, his lips going flat, “don’t tell Jeffrey I told you that. That’s not the kinda stuff I’m supposed to be sharing with you.”

“When did that happen?”

Hank stared back at him. “I can’t answer that.” Then he cleared his throat. “I’d only hope he’d put aside his biases for this case, too. The only thing he doesn’t work on is his, uh, attitude. But he’s never seemed too keen on changing that. Everyone’s learned to tolerate him.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to keep bringing him up, but,” Connor sighed. “He pisses me off. I see people like you and Chris and Wilson who go out of their way to help people, and Gavin would rather sit there playing games on his phone, stirring up gossip.” 

“It’s okay. I get it. Gavin’s a… an acquired taste. I despised him when he first started, not that I still don’t. Selfish entitled brat, and he _is_. But the more you have to deal with him, the more he fades into background noise. Who knows, maybe this new bot’ll bring out a different side of him we haven’t seen before.”

Connor’s nose scrunched. “Yeah, an angrier one, probably.”

“Mm, maybe. Who knows. We just have to wait and see. I know you want to help people, kid. I get it. But, honestly? The best thing for us right now is to play beat cop and deal with the smaller things. At least for now.”

“I could be doing so much more.”

“And you will, in due time. I know you maybe don’t want to _accept_ it, but what you went through was traumatic, Connor.”

Connor twirled a strand of Sumo’s fur. He could, he really could do so much more. And he was curious to see what he could do _without_ Cyberlife’s hand clutched in his. Only left to his own wits and observational skills. Of course, a detective crying in the midst of a case because he’s so stressed out won’t work in his favor. But Connor was also stubborn. He wanted to prove to _himself_ that he could do this.

“If you want to see someone to talk about it, I know—”

“No.” He said too quick. “I don’t need _therapy_.”

“It could help, especially with figuring out emotions.”

“I said no, Hank.”

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to. But don’t totally turn down the idea. Just know that’s always an option.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“We don’t have to. Let’s,” he carefully slid away from Sumo and stood with a loud crack, scooping up his car keys, “go get breakfast instead.”

Connor pouted. “I already made you breakfast.”

“Did you, though?”

“Yes! I made you eggs, scrambled with cheese, like the recipe said.” 

“They were black.”

“Yes, and?”

“If your food is black, brown, green, or pink, you _probably_ shouldn’t eat it.” Hank chuckled. “You let him out earlier, right?”

Connor nodded. He reluctantly moved his friend, following suit behind Hank (but not without one last chin scratch as a goodbye). 

“M’kay, good. We’ll be back later, Sumo. Be a good boy,” Hank called out, closing the door behind them and locking it.

“Have you heard anything back about Rebecca’s case yet? Jack, I think his name was.”

“No. Not yet. Guessing we’ll have an update by later tonight. You heard anything from Rebecca yourself?”

He opened the door and kicked his legs onto the dashboard. At first Hank had given him a dirty look, but after a minute of glaring, he broke out into a smile. 

“I only know that she’s safe with Traci and Tallulah.” 

“Tallulah… which is…?”

“Traci's girlfriend.”

“Ah. Okay. That’s reassuring, at least,” he started the engine. “You still want to talk to him today?”

Connor blinked. “Uh… _Jack_?” 

“What was his model again, you just said it— nine…”

“Oh, Ninehundred. I don’t even know what I’d say. I’m not sure if he even knows who I am, or what he is. Or where he came from. _I_ don’t even know what he is.”

“Well, there you go. That’s a starting point. Ask him where he came from.”

Connor pulled at the hem of his shirt. “I don’t want to be friends with him.”

“No one’s saying you gotta be buddy buddy. You’re curious though, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll know when you see him, if the moment’s right.”

“I guess,” he leaned against the window. “Hank?”

“Hm?”

“What did you want to be when you grew up?”

He looked at him as the light flashed green. “Where’d that question come from?”

“I’m curious.”

“Alright. Well, promise not to laugh, okay?”

“I promise.”

“Really wanted to be the next drummer for Metallica.”

Connor stifled his chuckle. “You play drums?”

“Tried to. Then I learned I sucked at it, so I gave up that dream pretty quick and exchanged my drum kit for a rust bucket of a car. You can laugh now.”

Connor did. But after his laughter died down, he asked, sincerely, “why did you go into the police force, then?”

“Well, you see, when you hang out with the stoner rockabilly kids, you kinda… you get mixed in with the rougher crowd. I wasn’t perfect either. I smoked, I drank underage, fucked around because I still didn’t really know what I wanted to do in life. Was just going to college because it wasn’t an option _not_ to in my household, and I didn’t take it seriously. Spent most of my time in the music slash art scene, picking up chicks at bars and blowing off studying for local gigs. We grew used to seeing articles every other week in the local papers about someone we knew overdosing at so and so’s house party.

“That’s when red ice was getting more popular. A lot of people used it like a party drug, mixed it with energy drinks and PCP and other dumb shit. But it still fell under the radar because it was kept hush hush, and the cops didn’t care about a few kids having a good time. Go to a music festival and everyone’s smoking red ice. Yeah, it grew old quick. My roommate got addicted to it. Didn’t go a day without smoking.

“It was a lot different when the bi weekly overdose update came from your own house.”

“He overdosed?”

Hank nodded. “Yeah. He had a heart attack, and by the time we got to the hospital, it was too late. And the worst part was the doctors didn’t seem to give a single shit. Blew him off as another wild college kid that partied too hard. Called my mom sobbing that night, and that’s when it just kinda clicked. She told me to do something about it, don’t let the death of my friend be for nothing. And that’s when I met Jeffrey.” 

Connor was smiling at him, and Hank’s face contorted. “What? What’s that look for?”

“I admire you, I dunno. You’ve been through so much, but you don’t wallow in your own pity at the end of the day.”

“No. I _do_ do that. Just usually behind closed doors.”

His smile fell.

They reached the parking lot for a nicer looking restaurant, with an outdoor seating area, overhead lights strung across the patio. But indoors, through the windows, it looked pitch black. And there was a sign posted to the front door, a small piece of paper. 

Hank squinted. "What's that say?"

Luckily for Connor, he had perfect vision. Maybe the _only_ perfect thing about him. "They're closed until further notice because they don't have enough workers."

"Huh. Damn. That's a shame," he started the car back up. "Guess we'll have to use plan B."

"Which is?"

"The good ol' grocery store. Now it’s my turn. You’ve been out of Cyberlife’s lab since September, yeah?” 

“That’s when my first case was with Captain Allen, and Daniel.”

“Did they send you back after that, or were you free roaming?”

“They allowed me to go out during the day, granted I had to return at night under a strict curfew. And they watched everything I did.”

“What did you do to pass time?”

“I, um, read a lot. I’d go to parks and pick a spot where people wouldn’t stare at me, and read for a few hours." He watched a child cross the street, an android in a bright caretaker uniform holding her hand. 

"I liked going to dog parks mostly, both for the people watching and… dogs. Every once in a while they’d give me an allowance and let me go do something within reason. I liked going to the zoo.”

“So they treated you like a person? Sometimes, at least?”

“No. Not at all,” Connor scoffed. “They wanted me to get acclimated with humans and their ways of living so I would be able to connect and relate to a partner more realistically in the future. They didn’t want a relationship to be contrived, so they strived for the more natural approach. They didn’t mind if I went to museums and hopped on the train. Anything that would better my chances at getting on a humans good side, and getting our case done. They didn't care about me, only their mission."

“What happened when you had to go back?”

“They had a lab there, at the really big Cyberlife HQ. They’d probe me about my day, scan my memories to make sure I wasn’t lying or missing any details, jot down their notes and then put me back in my box. I usually didn’t enter stasis. I’d stay awake for six days, sometimes.”

“Jesus, six days?”

“Yeah. I, um, really didn’t like closing my eyes around them. Every time I did, something new was done to my body, or brain. I just…” his breath hitched. He played with the longer strands of his hair; he could feel a file trying to open, something he’d tried to keep tucked away. One of those memories that made the things that go thump in the middle of the night seem joyful and exciting. He didn’t need to review his stress tests again. He’d seen them enough. 

“I didn’t like it. Whenever I went to the zoo, or walked a nature trail, anywhere with animals and wildlife, I felt, I don’t know. Safe? Relaxed, I guess. Animals don’t judge you. A dog lets you pet it and he doesn’t care what or who you are, as long as he’s getting affection.”

There was a short silence. But, Hank broke that before it could grow any further. “Cyberlife was always in your head, huh.”

“That’s who I’d always talk to when I’d make reports. Amanda." Saying her name felt like a bad omen, poison in his mouth. "That was her name.”

“You had a _person_ in your head?”

“A simulation of one. She wasn’t real. But, sometimes it felt like she was my only friend. Before I met you, at least. And God was she upset when she realized I was becoming dependent on you.”

“But, she’s gone now?”

“As far as I’m aware.” Connor nodded. He couldn’t be certain, and the fear of it all coming back one day loomed over him. But, for now, he was okay. He was. He had to remind himself that, everyday. He was okay. “It’s silent up there.”

“I’m glad you’re free now, kid. Really glad.” 

Upon getting to the grocery store, they were met with the grim reality of another set of closed doors. Right, Connor remembered seeing that in the few clips they’d spliced in of people’s shaky handheld footage. During the revolution, a _lot_ of androids walked out. That’s why there _were_ so many woken ones, and people present to march behind Markus. A lot of them were typical everyday workers.

“They’re closed too?”

"What the hell. Apparently."

"What about the store near your house? The Seven Eleven."

"Nah, we're too far. Guess I'll just eat when we get there. Coffees a meal, right?" Hank grinned at Connor.

" _No_. It's really not. I told you, you should’ve ate what I made you.”

“I’m gagging just thinking about it.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Connor protested.

“Yes, Connor, it was.” 

* * *

"Morning Hank, Connor," Chris greeted them with a wide smile. Bright like the morning sun. The station wasn't as busy as it'd been yesterday, but within due time. He knew it'd pick up eventually; the phones were already ringing. 

"Good morning, Chris," he offered him in return, Hank scurrying off towards the back without any other words. The effects of his earlier coffee were already wearing off. 

"Rough start to the day?"

Connor shifted out of his jacket, slinging it over his arm. "A lot of restaurants and stores are closed because all their workers left, and he didn’t eat before we left. So,” Connor halfheartedly shrugged. 

"Ahh, I see,” Chris laughed lightly. “Yeah, I noticed that too. Took me thirty minutes to find somewhere to buy pasta sauce last night. Guess that's what happens when you hire all android employees and push them past their limits."

"I think that's what you'd call karma, right?"

Chris’ lips twitched. "Something like that."

There was yelling echoing from somewhere, and Connor immediately recognized that voice. Like damn nails on a chalkboard. "I take it's been a rough morning here as well?"

Chris slowly nodded, leaning closer to Connor to whisper, hand cupped to his ear. "Gavin's lost his shit, man. That other androids been trying to get him to cooperate, but he's practically thrown his entire office around in anger. Saw you storm out yesterday too. Guess that guy must be real irritating to work with."

"No. He's not the problem. Gavin will have to learn to deal with him, and so will I. Eventually."

"Yeah, one could only hope. There's a reason he's never assigned partners," he snickered. “Hey, did you catch that Kamski interview this morning?”

Connor nodded. “Yeah. He’s full of shit.”

“Oh, I know. But he _looks_ like a douche, so what do you expect?”

Connor puffed his cheeks. “Human decency.”

“That’s hard to come by nowadays."

Gavin slammed the door to his office; there was a flash of his arm, and then ninehundred was left there to stand outside the door that audibly locked, awkwardly. His LED was a flickering yellow. "Damn, poor guy. Maybe we should talk to him?"

Connor held his breath. He wasn't prepared for how uneasy his mere presence made him. " _Maybe_."

"Wouldn't hurt to try.” Except it would, but he wasn’t going to dump all his personal drama on Chris. “Don't even know his name."

"Chris, I don't think he _has_ one."

"Oh. Uh… hm," Chris nudged him playfully in the side before they walked over to him, Connor staggering behind. "Hey man, everything alright?"

He stepped away from the door, straightening his posture. He looked at Chris, not before side eyeing Connor. “Yes. Everything is— fine.”

“Gavin’s giving you a hard time, huh,” Chris stated with a shy smile. “Don’t take it personally. That’s how he is with everyone.”

Ninehundred looked away. “I don't know how to get along with him. He's impossible to talk to."

"It really doesn't help that he hates us," Connor added.

"Oh, I know, trust me. I’ve heard it all. 'Do as you're told' he kept saying, but it’s hard to when all he does is _yell._ It’s like he’s incapable of speaking at an appropriate volume.”

"Gavin… he grows on you," Chris put his arm around ninehundred, guiding him away from his office, walking in the vague direction of Connor’s desk. "He'll warm up eventually, trust me. Just give him a year."

"A year," Ninehundred replied flat.

Hank stopped dead in his tracks, lowering his mug. Connor acknowledged his questioning gaze, giving him a nonchalant nod. "What’s this? Party I wasn’t invited to?”

“Gavin kicked him out."

"Ah," he raised his mug to him in sympathy, "get used to that."

"I gotta get back to what I was doing," Chris said, Hank waving him off. "Talk to y'all later."

Ninehundred stood there again, stiff and unsure, like a baby deer. He was looking around, maybe trying to mentally process what he should do, his hands held behind his back. Hank let out a huffy sigh. "Connor, get him a chair for Christ's sake. He can sit with us until Gavin calms down from his baby fit."

"But," Connor started, but Hank held a finger up to him. " _No_. Get him a chair."

Grumbling to himself, Connor pried free a loose chair that was tucked away with a few other random office supply items. He rolled it back to their desk, setting it at the edge, between his desk and Hank’s. “There.”

"Thank you," he said, sitting down.

Connor also took his spot, resting an elbow against the tabletop. Hank set his mug down. It was like Hank was _forcing_ him to be in his presence.

"Sooo,” Hank trailed, scratching his chin, “ _do_ you have a name?"

"No," he responded. "Unless you'd consider 'plastic prick' to be fitting."

“Tin can,” Connor added, and Ninehundred quirked a brow. So he gestured vaguely. “That’s what he calls me.”

“Guess we could call you nine hundred, but that's sort of a mouthful."

"Or, Nine," Connor said.

"That works too."

But, then he added, " _Nines_. That sounds more grammatically correct."

"I like that," he said, his LED flashing. Connor knew he registered the name. "Thank you."

"Mhm," Connor hummed. His fingers were drumming on his desk as Hank returned to his computer, scrolling through something. Finally, he turned back to Nines. “May I ask you something?” He heard Hank faintly chuckle under his breath.

“Sure.”

He gestured to his jacket. "Do you not hate wearing that?”

Nines cocked his head, in the same way that Connor usually did, and it made his fingers twitch. "No? It helps identify me for what I am— an android."

He scoffed. "It's oppressive."

"It's informative. Why aren't you wearing yours?"

Connor pinched the bridge of his nose, turning in his chair. Hank decided to jump in instead, steering the conversation in a new direction. "So, they brought you in yesterday?"

"Yes,” Connor kept his focus on his own two feet. “Although I'm not sure if I'll stay once our current case is closed. Captain Fowler didn’t specify. Especially if Detective Reed is still persistent in despising me."

"If you carry your weight, I'm sure Jeffrey will keep you, regardless of what Gavin thinks."

"May I ask you something now, Connor?” He peeked his head up, looking behind himself. Nines' eyes were studying him. 

“Alright.”

His LED flickered yellow for a brief moment. “How long have you been here?" 

"November fifth.”

"Ah. Not that long either."

Connor searched for something to toy with; he found a pen. Some of the hesitation behind not wanting to talk to him came from his own shame, of being mean to him. He didn’t deserve it, and he knew that. So he breathed. "I'm sorry, about yesterday. For calling you it, and a thing."

"Your apology is accepted. It doesn't bother me." His blasé response made Connor cringe. 

"I'm sure it does."

Nines thought to himself for a moment then shook his head. "No."

Connor looked at Hank, who was watching him. Like he was mentally trying to verbalize his need for Hank to change the subject, or at least give him a topic to talk about. But he seemed to find this all amusing. He wasn't any help. Connor had to make do with his inept small talk abilities. 

"Do you like animals?"

Nines looked pensive. "I'm not sure I've ever met one."

"You've never met an animal? What about birds?"

"I can't recall."

"This is a riveting conversation." Connor leaned back against his chair, crossing his arms.

"I'm detecting sarcasm, detective."

"Oh, _yeah_?"

Hank tsk'd. "Connor, be nice."

It was perfect timing for Gavin's door to creak open. He looked around before spotting them, marching over with heavy steps. He grabbed the head of Nines’ chair, violently spinning him to face him. "What the fuck are you doing? Socialising?"

"You locked me out. I didn't know where to go."

"You stand there and _wait_."

"Gavin, lay off him, okay," Hank tried to reason, "we just gave him somewhere to sit while you cooled off. Which, I guess you didn't."

" _It's_ not a _he,_ " Gavin spat.

" _He's_ your partner,” Connor raised his voice. “And you better start showing him some damn respect."

"Or what, tin can?"

Connor sprung to his feet, rounding over to Hank. He grabbed Hank's mug like it was second nature, throwing the rest of its contents at Gavin. He didn't have to think twice about _if_ he should do that or not— he just really, _really_ wanted to. Hank spun around in his chair, a hand clapped over his mouth, trying to not bust out laughing, he could tell. Nines had fallen speechless, and now _everyone's_ eyes were trained on them.

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Gavin practically screeched, pulling the lower half of his shirt far away from his body. “Holy shit, ow my _God_ that’s fucking hot! You actual bastard.”

"Payback for yesterday?"

Gavin took a swing at Connor, but he backed out of the way in the nick of time. Fowler stepped out of his office, and oh, he looked _mad._ "Jesus Christ, Gavin, get back to work. All of you. This isn't middle school. You’re grown ass men.”

Gavin scowled, rolling his eyes. "Fuck me. Come on, let's go. Fuck, this is gonna stain."

Nines stood, following closely behind him. "I'd like you to address me as Nines now," Connor heard him say.

"What? Uh, okay. Fine." And with that, his door shut once again.

"I can't believe you did that."

"I've been _waiting_ to do that."

Hank was still laughing as he looked at his monitor, scrolling through something. Connor had an elbow leaned against the armrest of his chair when his phone rang. Hank picked it up. "Lieutenant Anderson,” Connor wiggled a brow at him, Hank matching his expression. “Oh, yeah uh, sure. I didn’t know anyone was here to see us. Send him back. Thanks, bye."

"Someone’s here?"

"Yeah. Markus."

Connor nearly choked. " _Markus_?"

"Yep. That's what she said."

"He's— oh my god, he's _alive_?"

"What did I tell you, kid? Maybe you should start listening to me more often."

When Markus walked in, he instantaneously locked his eyes, and Connor’s breath caught. He hadn’t given into the idea that he was dead, but of course that probability was there. And the grim possibilities like to taint his thoughts sometimes, holding him captive as he’d go through a list of scenarios. 

He briskly made his way over to him, pulling Markus into a maybe too eager hug. He stumbled, and wasn’t at all graceful. But Markus’ arms found their way around his back, and he held him there in place. “ _Markus_ ,” he breathed.

He didn’t have a lot of people he could consider friend, besides the obvious one; him and Chris got along, though the words they exchanged were few and far between, and he wasn’t particularly on anyone’s bad side at the station (besides, again, the _obvious_ ), but again, it wasn’t like he held any meaningful conversations with the people here. But when Connor finally got to talk to Markus, once the insanity died down and they had a moment to breathe, he found something in him that he admired. Of course his leadership was noteworthy, and maybe he was jealous in that regard, how he could stand up for himself. Speak eloquently, something Connor didn’t always feel like he could do, because even when he knew what he wanted to say, he didn’t feel like he could _say_ the right thing.

Once they got to talking, he was enamored with his story; Markus talked about his father and the games they’d play together (he suggested Connor try him at chess someday), they bonded over a few of the same books they’d read. And, for once, Connor could share a tale of his own; a tale about him, and Hank. The unlikely friends, is what he called it at the time.

Markus was one of those people that Connor had truly found a friend in. Someone he could imagine himself talking to outside of anything related to Jericho, or work. 

"I didn't know where you escaped off to," Markus said.

"I didn't know where _you_ went. Anytime I asked about you, no one said they’d heard from you. And the last time I saw you, you all were being escorted with guns pressed to your backs. I was worried.”

Markus let go of him, but still stood close, a hand on his forearm. "They kept us longer than any of us thought they would."

"Perkins?"

He nodded. "And the national guard. They released us a quarter past one last night, but I figured it would’ve been rude to call you without notice so late.” 

“Where are you staying? Are you— you’re okay?”

“We’re fine,” he smiled, softly. “We spent the night at my father’s.” 

“Carl? He’s still alive?”

“He’s not doing well, but, yes. He’s hanging in there.” He peered behind Connor. “Where’s your desk?”

“Oh. Right. Uh, it’s this way.” He led him to where Hank was now standing.

"I don't think we've met." Markus reached out to shake his hand. "I'm Markus."

"Hank," he said.

"Ah, so _this_ is Hank. Connor talked about you, a lot."

He grimaced, Markus only keeping a smug face.

"Oh, yeah? Good things I hope?" Hank grinned. 

"Only good things."

"Has he taught you any coin tricks yet?"

"No," Markus looked back at him with a tinge of disappointment. "But now I'm curious."

"I've tried. It's impossible what the fucker does."

Markus laughed.

"I can give coin lessons later— what are you doing here?”

"I wanted to see if you could help me with something. A proposal.”

"Proposal for?" Hank interjected.

"An art project, I suppose? A few of us would like to paint a mural downtown, as a peace offering message, but we weren’t sure who to inquire about it.”

"We can take you to Jeffrey and see what he can do. That's not really in our department, since that's more of a city thing."

"I'm assuming this is something we'd need a permit for.”

"Depending on where you do it. Maybe not. Let’s see." Hank waved, guiding them to his office. He knocked on the door, and Jeffrey hung up his phone. The three of them walked in. "Jeffrey, this is Markus."

"I know who he is. Hello, Markus. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person."

"Nice to meet you as well."

"And what can I do for you today?"

"A few of us from Jericho would like to paint a mural. But we wanted to ask first before we get detained for vandalism."

"Have you tried city hall?"

"Josh said coming here first was the safer bet," Markus looked to Connor. 

"He isn't wrong," Hank said.

"Well, let me see what I can do," Jeffrey looked at his computer. 

"There's an art district," Connor said. "Isn't there? I remember reading something about one in a magazine once.”

Hank snapped his fingers. "Smart, Connor. Yeah, maybe he's onto something. They have those free for all graffiti walls, don't they?"

Fowler typed in a slew of words before nodding, turning his screen to face them. "It’s called Sugar Hill art district. There seems to be a space open to the public that you can paint over, near the university."

"That would be perfect."

"The most we can do is have someone escort you and offer protection. I think maybe some of the roads are still blocked off in that area, but I’m not sure. Do you know, Hank?”

“I mean, maybe. Probably not around the university though.”

“Play it by ear, I guess. Are you good with Hank and Connor?"

Markus nodded. "That'd be great."

"Could probably send Gavin and his partner too. He needs a little time out," Fowler folded his hands together. "Connor, _please_ don't throw coffee at him again. I get it, he's an asshole, but you _can't_ do that."

Connor shrunk in himself as Markus gave him an amused look. "I'm sorry, Captain."

“Make sure your boy behaves. Fights aren’t a good look,” he pointed at Hank. 

“Won’t happen again, Jeff.”

Fowler pressed five on a keypad, picking up the receiver. "You in the middle of something? Need you to come here for a minute. Both of you. No, you’re not in trouble."

Connor cleared his throat (a sound he normally didn’t do, and _definitely_ picked up from Hank). “So, how’s North?”

“She’s fine too.” 

Not too soon after, both Gavin and Nines cautiously entered the room. Connor noticed Gavin was wearing a different shirt; a black turtle neck, which was unusual for him, since he preferred the more relaxed v-neck style. Nines' jacket was also zipped up. "What's this? An intervention?"

"Very funny. No, actually, you and," Fowler held his palm upright.

"Nines, sir.”

" _Nines_ , are going to accompany Hank and Connor in providing backup for Markus and his people. They're going to paint a mural downtown."

"What? _No_ , we’re busy. We're in the middle of pinpointing evidence back to—"

"I didn't ask for your opinion on the matter, Reed. I'll have Collins take over while you're gone. It'll be good for you. It's important to learn how to get along." 

“This is _bullshit_. Just send in Chris.”

“Zip. It.”

Nines spoke softly, “I can send in my analysis for detective Collins to review.”

“Thank you, Nines. See, Gavin. No backtalk, just respect.”

* * *

The district was a lot larger than Connor had imagined it to be in his head; though he’d downloaded a file about the places general history, being there in person was an entirely different feel. Long buildings found themselves coated in vibrant pop art designs, and trees saw themselves with decorations of painted clocks, clothes hung strategically from branches. There was a park with sculptures as its main centerpiece, and the general vibe there was different than direct downtown that was overpopulated by consumerism.

On the way over, Hank had offered to give Markus a ride; well, rather, there was a bit of a spat between him and Gavin, because Gavin didn’t want even Nines in his car with him. But, he reasoned one android was a lot better than four. So they made a quick stop at Carl’s house along the way, gathering up his friends and a collective basketful of art supply. They didn’t go inside, but Connor admired the beauty of the mansions exterior. 

The skies above them were quite clear that day, and a large portion of grass peeked through clumps of white. It was quiet around there, not a lot of buzz. It didn’t seem like most people were outdoors anyways. Connor now found himself standing beside Nines, leaning against the door of Hank’s car. They’d gathered as a group at first, until Hank decided it’d probably be better to keep Gavin away from them, and try to control his bitching, for once. Connor could still hear every word of their conversation though, since Gavin wasn’t really known for being the... quiet type.

As Markus was beginning to set up, organizing his selection of colors and brushes, Gavin chewed Hank’s ear off. He could hear Hank humming in response, vaguely listening to him. Probably trying to contain his own annoyance.

"This is stupid. _I_ don't need to be here. I have way more important things to be doing, and now I have to _babysit_?"

"Oh, simmer down, Reed. You get to stand here for a couple of hours and watch paint dry— it could be worse."

"This isn't helping _anyone_."

"You're gonna tire yourself out with all that moaning."

"Shut the hell up, grandpa," Gavin pulled a carton out of his bomber jacket, shaking it in Hank’s face. "I'm gonna smoke. Let me know if anything _heats up_."

"Lord have mercy," Hank groaned.

Connor drew his focus away from them and watched Markus as he observed the space. He was holding a smaller piece of paper, blueprints for the painting. He felt awkward and the air between them seemed tense. Only because he wasn’t sure what to say, and they’d already been standing there for twenty minutes in silence.

The first move to break the silence, and it wasn’t made by Connor. “Do you dislike me, Connor?”

“What?” he was taken aback by the blunt question. 

“You haven’t spoken to me since we arrived.”

“I’m… just not quite sure what to say, I guess.”

“I am open for talking about anything. I’m sure having a conversation with you will help pass the time better.”

“It might,” there were so many questions he wanted to ask. And he couldn’t shake the feeling of uncomfortableness around him. Maybe he _wasn’t_ even aware of what he was. He went with a safe question first. “Uh, are you having any more luck working with Gavin?"

Nines looked at him, blank. He was hard to read. "Unfortunately, no. Detective Reed's behavior has been quite challenging to understand."

"But, how do you _really_ feel about him?"

Nines closed his eyes, sighing. "He's insufferable. He wouldn’t cooperate last night, he wouldn’t let me do _anything_ this morning.”

"Yeah, I know that feeling all too well.”

"He doesn’t let me offer suggestions— anytime I so much as open my mouth to speak, he tells me to shut it. Though, he doesn’t word it as nicely. He allowed me to connect my interface so he could see the evidence I’ve collected so far, and my notes. But he wasn’t interested in hearing anything from _me_.”

Connor raised his hand, and it hovered there for a moment; Nines watched his movement. Whenever he was distressed, and he could tell Nines was because he spoke in the same quick mannerism that he usually did himself, Hank would comfort him with affection. A pat on the back, rub his shoulder. He wanted to try the same thing, but he found reciprocating the sentiment a lot harder than receiving it. 

He gently rested his palm against the top of his bicep, giving him a gentle pat or two in a very ‘there there’ fashion. Nines seemed to accept the gesture, because he didn’t pull away.

"My first day in, he punched me. In the stomach."

"I’m not quite sure how to work with someone like this,” they both peered over their shoulders at Gavin coughing from across the street, cigarette lit to his lips. “Someone that won’t let me get my _job_ done.”

"I'd say he'll come around like Hank did, but… Gavin's Gavin."

"I don't know what that means, and you’re not the first to say it today.”

"It means he's a dick and doesn't get along with anyone. Especially not androids.”

“And is there a reason he hates androids so much?”

Connor shrugged. “Probably. I don’t know anything about him. If it’s any consolation, Hank hated me, too. And I mean, _really_ hated me. He was so angry when Fowler assigned me as his partner, I think the walls shook. I never knew the English vocabulary had that many vulgar words in it.

“He was really closed off at first. He didn’t talk to me unless he had to, never asked me any questions. I’d offer him a suggestion about evidence or a clue, and he’d ignore me, only acknowledging what I said if a human reiterated it. Same situation you’re in.” 

“But, that changed, I’m assuming? You seem close with him now.”

Connor nodded. “Yeah. He looked past the android thing and our differences and started seeing me for me. It wasn’t right away that we became friends. But eventually, he became my—” he swallowed down the word he wanted to use, substituting with, “we’re close now.”

“You’re not like any android I’ve ever met. You don’t act like a machine. You register as human to me.”

Connor looked at him. “You’ve never met a deviant before?”

“I’ve only met the others in Kamski’s lab, and they didn’t talk much.”

“Did you see the interview this morning as well?”

“Only bits and pieces, before detective Reed exited out of the tab.” 

“So that _is_ where you came from? His lab?” Connor probed. 

Nines wore a gentle smile. “I know I make you anxious, Connor. Your stress levels are peaking.”

Now he knew how Hank felt when he’d scan him. Violated. “Okay, if we’re going to hang out with each other, _please_ don’t scan me.”

“I don’t mind if you do the same.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?” He had a shocked look now. “What do you mean?”

Connor shook his head. “Everything’s been offline for at least a week. I’ve pretty much been on my own in my head.”

“Oh. I see.”

“That’s _why_ they gave you our case. I— I can’t do anything anymore.”

“Hm,” he hummed. “I think I know why I make you anxious.”

“Yeah?”

“That picture that they showed, in the slideshow, before Kamski came on to speak. I know that didn’t slip past you. I noticed it as well; immediately I picked up that that was you.” 

“They’d been planning to make you before _I_ was even finished.”

"Yes, they had been. Kamski made me a few months ago, and my first test ran the day they released you. He knew you were going to deviate, long before you did. He talked about it sometimes, to himself mostly. I have memories of him always watching you. He couldn’t get Markus’ location, so you were the next best thing. He always managed to get inside your head. When you failed his test, that’s when he decided to change me.”

Connor sucked in his lips, so Nines continued. “I’m well aware I was supposed to be a deviant hunter, like you. That was the goal. I’m not sure what the purpose was behind it, exactly. But I do know that if you failed your mission, I was going to be sent to replace you. But, that didn’t happen. Clearly." 

“Technically you _are_ replacing me. And taking over my,” he scratched his neck, “failed case.”

“Not in the same light as the original plan.”

"So, Kamski what, rewrote your entire programming?"

"More like he just erased it, rather than rewriting it. He never gave me a new motive because he seemed, I’m not sure, panicked, maybe? My system was fried and damaged at that point, and it was the bits and pieces that made me put the puzzle back together. There was still a motive to treat deviants differently within myself, and I could access footage of hand to hand combat training. And, well. There wasn’t much to do in the lab when he let me walk around. I’d found a folder with instructions from Cyberlife and a briefing on you."

Connor wasn’t sure what to say, and there again was that lack of eloquence when speaking. He said the first thing that came to mind instead. “Damn.” 

"I'm not sure how I got here. To DPD. If Kamski sent me himself. I opened my eyes and I wasn't in his lab anymore."

That reminded Connor of when he was officially signed to Hank. He’d entered stasis for the last time in that laboratory, celebrative that he _wasn’t_ going to be coming back. But then the last thing he remembered was being dropped off on the curb, outside of the police station, from an unmarked dark car. There weren’t many instructions they’d provided him with after; it took a lot of coaxing to figure out where Hank was, even more to actually _find_ him. 

“Connor, can I ask you something that may be overstepping my boundaries?” 

He was pulled from his thoughts, and he blinked slow. "Okay."

"What made you deviate?"

Connor watched him, his mouth slightly agape. That was an interesting question. "It wasn’t my _choice_. I didn't want anyone else to get hurt. They— Cyberlife sent me to _kill_ Markus, and I went to their safe haven, a gun pushed to his head and I couldn't pull the trigger, because I didn't want anyone else to die. Didn't matter who, or what, they were. He raised his hands, no intention to harm me back, and I could see it in his eyes, that he was afraid of me. I could see his tears, and I realized how pointless everything was. Trying to stop people who only wanted family and to be with each other, and to live life."

"You seem to hold guilt from this event still, correct?”

"Yeah. Are you still scanning me, or did you pick that up?”

“I’m not scanning you anymore. It’s only an observation.” 

“Yes,” he pulled at his sleeve. “I hold a lot of guilt still, and I always will.” 

“I don’t think you should.”

“Why?”

“They wanted to destroy you. That’s what replacing you meant. Because, and I quote from my hazy memories, you were far too knowledgeable for your own good. Though, I’m not sure why Kamski has given up on that motive now.”

“Oh,” Connor chuckled, softly, “I know that. Hank and I _were_ kicked off our case, and they told me Cyberlife wanted me to return to be deactivated. That’s the first thought I had when I saw you.”

“That you were going to be deactivated?”

“Yeah. I thought the fairytale was over and the day had finally come. It seems like you still remember a lot.”

“There are some things I think he didn’t _want_ me to forget. Oh, Connor. I also know I wouldn’t be standing here beside you, having this nice conversation, if you hadn’t done what you did. And I do like being here. Fresh air feels a lot nicer than the conditioned kind.” 

There was some silence. Markus was beginning to paint, his brush strokes crossing paths with North’s, and Hank went to speak to a curious bystander who asked a question, probably about what was going on.

Nines turned his focus back to the mural. "I find art quite fascinating.”

"Yeah? What about it fascinates you?" Connor said.

"The concept of taking something that doesn't exist and bringing it into reality. Creating something only you can see."

"I don't understand it," Connor said. "The purpose of it, I guess. It seems like another mundane way to pass time."

"It’s to invoke emotion, I think," Nines answered. 

"Oh. Which is... something you can feel? Emotions, I mean?"

"No. No, of course not."

"So you're not woken? You have no purpose or goals. Besides, well, the case with Gavin.” 

"I’m not really sure? I wouldn't know the difference, either way. How did it _feel_ , when you deviated?"

"It was, um, terrifying. I don’t really know how to put it into words—”

"Could you show me instead?" Nines looked at him, his sleeve tugged up and arm stretched out inconspicuously, in a way no one would notice.

"No.” Connor said, flat. “We’re on duty anyways, that wouldn’t be appropriate.”

"It will only take a few seconds."

"I don't think you know what you're asking for." He pushed his arm away. "You need to focus on your case, and solve it. This isn't going to help you. Emotions don’t do anything but— fuck things up.”

“I’m not asking you to _convert_ me. I only want to know what you felt, so I can understand better when we talk.”

“No. It’s not a good idea. Final answer.”

“Fine.”

"You don't know what that’ll do to you.”

"You're right. I don't. And I guess I never will."

A few hours passed by, and honestly, time sped by quicker than Connor had imagined. Him and Nines only exchanged a few more words, nothing as heavy as their prior conversations, until they regrouped with Hank and Gavin (who was still keeping distance from the trio). And by this time, they were less occupied with trying to make conversation among themselves, and more so focused on the crowd that had been steadily growing. A cluster of curious folk had gathered, some with their phones in their hands, taking pictures.

It wasn’t anything too exciting; a man from the press also arrived, and after talking to Hank, he allowed him to get closer, snapping shots of them working with his fancy DSLR. 

The first look Connor got of the mural, he didn’t have an immediate reaction. He wasn’t sure what to think. The brick was first layered with a heavy blue, something that could’ve read as somber. Flicks of black were brushed in, and overall the paint was muddy. There was nothing bright or cheery about it. 

The actual design started from left, to right, and met in the middle, painted like a storybook. First, the tale started with an android, his features not definitive, but his mouth was open. And his eyes, although blurred, reflected no life. His plating was a stark contrast to the setting behind him. There’s a chain around his neck, and his wrists roped together.

Reading from the right now was a human, a man. He’s in fear, and it’s obvious to tell from his expression. His hands are raised in front of him, like he’s protecting himself from an attack. And there’s tears trailing down his cheeks. With more splattered colors, they grew brighter as you reached the center; yellows and pinks and oranges. The two figures meet, the man with a blue ring on his skull and the human, hands locked together in a friendly handshake. 

The more he studied what the story was telling, how both men experienced fear in their own ways, but could still meet in the middle and find common ground, made Connor feel something _new_. He wasn’t going to cry, and he didn’t feel upset. There was a soft feeling, bubbling at his core. And when he looked at Hank, he felt a shared peace. Connor guessed he did like art after all.

"Holy shit," Hank muttered. 

The three of them stood before their creation, and Markus’ smile was contagious. 

"That's… actually impressive," Gavin said, and to their surprise, found him within close proximity of Nines. 

The crowd around them was murmuring, but once Markus started to speak, it turned to silence. 

“Today, we’ve come here to create a piece that symbolizes, one day, we will live in harmony. We may be far from it today, and the progress to get there may be slow. But, everyday we can work on achieving peace. By respecting our neighbors and being selfless, showing our loved ones they’re cared about,” he glanced to North, her hand held in his. “Life is a precious thing, my father taught me that. And everyday, we must strive to be kind to one another, because no one knows what that other person could be going through.”

Connor looked at Gavin. He scowled. “What’re you looking at, rust bucket?”

“Nothing.”

“May we get a final photo, for Detroit press?” The man waved his camera at them.

"Of course. Connor, get in here," Markus waved him over.

"Uhm, what?” His eyes widened. “No? I didn't help make this.”

"You're just as much a part of this as the rest of us are."

"Get your butt in here," North called.

Connor didn’t want to budge, at first, until he saw Josh about ready to scoop him up. So he trudged over, Markus pulling him against his side. "You also," he gestured towards Nines. 

“Me?”

“You’re one of us, aren’t you?” Markus said.

"Hank too. I wouldn’t be here without Hank," Connor whispered, and Markus nodded. 

"All of you, come here."

Nines looked at Gavin, who shook his head. "I'm not very photogen—" but he grabbed a hold of his arm, dragging him with him.

Hank stood at Connor's other side, putting his arm around his shoulder. Connor could see from the corner of his eye Gavin, trying to stay near Hank. But Nines saddled him to the other side, and he could _hear_ his groan when Nines attempted to put a friendly arm around him. 


	7. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the normal, casual things in life that made Connor uncomfortable because he didn’t know how to be normal. So when Hank says they’re going clothes shopping, he secretly prays that the floor will swallow him up.
> 
> Most people would probably be excited to be gifted a shopping spree, but for Connor, that was his worst nightmare. 

Tina opened one of the many styrofoam containers of takeaway that cluttered the break room. There was a heavy smell of fried rice and eggs. And it made Connor wonder how food would taste; he could pick up the scent of grease and grilled beef when Hank ordered a cheap burger, and savor the way cake wafted, how sweet it smelt. But, it didn’t trigger the same responses in him that it would a human. He didn’t salivate. He did get hungry though, in a sense; when he _did_ need a refill of thirium, normally a message would’ve popped up, alerting him his levels were low. But now, he’d feel a dryness in his throat, and a craving to take a swig of the blue liquids. 

Though, one thing he could relate with others about food, is the emotional response it would create for him. When something was filled with frosting or topped with ice cream, it made Connor happy. He assumed it was because he knew Hank liked his share of sweets and candy, and so he associated the food with his positive image of him. 

He could, technically, eat something if he really wanted to. There’d be no real reason behind it because it wasn’t like he was going to get any nutritional value from sharing an order of fries with someone. But, he grew curious what salt would taste like. Or if that cupcake he stared at for far too long would make him nauseous; the amount of calories definitely was a repellent. 

Another reason why eating would be pointless for him— he couldn’t taste. He could smell because he assumed Cyberlife thought that would be helpful to his investigations, for whatever odd reason they stood behind. But, he didn’t have functioning taste buds. Which, thank god, because from what he understood of bloods molecular makeup, it had a very bitter, metallic twang to it. And he wasn’t sure he’d be a fan of that flavor. 

Wasn’t that the whole point to food, anyways? That’s why there were ninety versions of the same dish. Besides people needing food to stay… alive, Connor understood people often got bored of things easily (he did too now), so they’d spice up what they ate to experiment. People liked exploring because it was exciting. 

Connor watched as everyone picked at their own paper plate. He was the only one not eating, and sure, it felt awkward. But it was probably more unusual for them than it was for him; to him, this was his normal. He did feel like he was missing out though as Hank commented to Chris about the chicken he had, about how good it was. Just another point to add to the book of ‘things Connor would miss out on in life’. He wanted to pout, but he didn’t. 

Someone’s phone— maybe it was Chris’, but it could’ve been Gavin’s— was cranked up, leaning against the side of one carton. The TV in that room stopped working a few days ago and no one bothered to call someone to repair it. It was an older model anyways, one they didn’t produce anymore, so it seemed pointless. 

They were watching a livestream of the news, a daily recap. They spieled off about the governors’ press conference from earlier, pinpointing his main concerns; they were communicating with president Warren to request government funding to acquire more appropriate buildings to house androids, but there was also uproar from the public. Residents of Detroit were resistant to having android housing within their neighborhoods, riddled with fears about being surrounded by ‘dangerous deviants’, as some interviewees addressed them as. 

Their ignorance made Connor scoff. Gavin made a few comments here and there, about how they were right, yadda yadda, but no one fed into it. And eventually, he shut up. Stores were also turning to hosting larger job fairs in hopes of hiring new employees and opening their doors asap. 

The newscaster had a monotone, lifeless voice and it felt like he was being held at gunpoint, reading off a script like his life depended on it. Everyone had eventually turned to talking to each other when they switched to a new segment, and then there it was, the picture that made Chris cackle and Gavin turn beet red— Markus stood mid center of the group, but his eyes immediately were cast to how disgruntled Gavin looked. 

“Oh, God.” Gavin ducked, shielding himself behind a hand. That was pretty damn funny to Connor. He’d never seen Gavin get _embarrassed_ before. He was always hiding behind this tough guy persona. It almost breathed some humanity into him, for once. 

“Wow. You all look,” Tina brought a can to her lips to conceal her laughter, “ _great_.”

“Let me see that,” Hank leaned over Chris’ shoulder, chuckling gruffly himself. "Jesus Christ, Reed. Could you try any harder to look more uncomfortable?"

Gavin spread his fingers, peeking through a sliver. “Fuckin’ droid was hanging all over me, you really think I’d be _comfortable_ with that?”

“He’s hardly touching you,” Connor said, and Hank added, “you also could’ve, y’know, stepped away from him.”

Gavin brooded. “I-I also get camera shy.”

"Is that what that was?" Connor smirked.

"Yeah, so do I, and I didn't look like _that,_ " Hank pointed at the screen, everyone giggling to themselves like a group of giddy children.

"Okay, alright. Lay off me for a second, will ya?" Gavin snatched up the phone (guess it was his after all) and shoved it into one of his jackets pockets. 

“Awh. I wanted to see the rest of that,” Tina frowned. 

“You have your own phone, don’t you?”

“Someone’s snarky,” Hank was borderline scolding Gavin at this point. Gavin rolled his eyes, but then this mischievous sort of sneer grew, and he raised a fork to Connor, nearly booping his nose with a chunk of broccoli. “Hey, Connor. Not hungry?” 

But before Gavin could continue with his teasing, Hank roughly shoved his arm away. “That’s _enough._ ”

"What? What happens if it eats? You gonna die, or something, like AI?” Connor was going to answer, explain that no, he could eat if he wanted to, and his body had its own ways of breaking down organic material and filtering it out. A non-smartass answer to a smartass question. But before he could get the words out, his lips parting, Hank cut him off with a shooing hand gesture.

"We don’t really need to find out, now do we?” Hank shuffled around, reaching into a brown paper lunch sack he had with him and pulled out a metal thermos. When they’d stopped for food, he’d grabbed a thermos from his car and filled it up with thirium for Connor, _just in case,_ he said. He sat it down beside him. "He can have this if he's hungry."

Gavin huffed. "You’re such a dad."

"Yeah? What's wrong with that?"

“Nothing, Hank,” Chris offered. 

Gavin steadied himself against his palm, looking distracted. He glanced towards the door. “ _Anyways,_ where the hell did Nines go?”

“Why do you care? You hate it,” Tina said quietly.

“Because I want to get back to work. What we should all be doing right now.”

“I’m eating. You can work if you want to,” Hank took a sip of his own drink as Chris shrugged. "I haven't seen him since you guys got back.”

“Maybe you scared it off,” Tina playfully poked Gavin. But Connor didn’t see the humor the others did. He was concerned, to say the least. He’d noticed too that Nines split as soon as him and Gavin got back to the station, not wanting to stick around any of them. And maybe no one else had saw, or cared, but, he did; before they’d went their separate ways, Nines’ LED had been stuck in a steady bright red. A sort of crimson he hadn’t quite seen before, not on an android, at least.

He’d shifted to yellow when Markus asked if he was one of them. Slid into his current color when the photo was taken. 

Connor abruptly pushed back his chair, fidgeting with the top button of his collar (his hands needed something to do). “I might know.”

Gavin exchanged a quick glance with Hank. "Yeah? Gonna tell me?"

"No,” was his short, simple response. He didn’t want to waste time explaining to Gavin who wasn’t going to listen anyways. Instead, he beelined towards the bathroom, opening the door with caution. He was distressed, obvious to Connor, and he tried to rack his brain of all the hiding places he’d mentally mapped out before of the station. The bathroom was the obvious one. Nines wasn’t Connor, but they were the same model and series. He was only taller and smarter and better in every way— but his logic was they’d have to think alike on some level. 

Connor had thought a bathroom was the perfect hiding spot. And now he was hoping Nines had the same idea. All the stalls appeared to be empty, except for one. At the risk of looking incredibly creepy, he hunched over, and he could see a set of black patent leather shoes, the cuffs of accompanying black dress pants. He sucked in a breath. 

Was he actually going to do this? He was seventy five percent sure that was him. Those _looked_ like his shoes. He crept over to the stall, a fist raised to knock. But at first, he strained to listen for… anything. There was no sound, no sniffles or breathing. He knocked. And he waited for a response. Nothing.

He tried again, knocking in silence. 

There was a shift of fabric, and then a voice that was _definitely_ not Nines’. “The fuck. Occupied.”

“Shit,” Connor muttered under his breath, stepping away, tripping. This was horrifying. “Sorry.”

A toilet flushed and the door opened, Connor feeling his fingers twitch when he saw who it was— no one other than Richard Perkins himself, his eyes slitted venomously. “Ah. It’s _you_.”

Connor tugged at his sleeve, shifting on the balls of his feet. “What’re you doing here?”

His forehead creased. He held his hands under a sink faucet, water spraying out. “Take a wild guess.”

Connor felt his face warming— and when he’d caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he could see he was _blushing,_ which was odd. “That’s not what I— I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else.”

“No, I’m not Anderson.”

“No, that’s—” but he cut him off before he could fumble over any more words. Perkins pulled off a paper towel, drying his hands and throwing it away. 

“I don’t want to know, nor do I care.” He moved past Connor, door swinging shut behind him. Connor leaned his elbows against the countertop, fingers burrowing through his hair. His nails scraped against his scalp. Ugh, his hair was getting so long. Every time he touched the thick strands, it made him cringe. 

He let out a loud sigh. That was uncomfortable. Actually, no. That was so humiliating that he wanted to crawl in a hole and bury himself alive. He closed his eyes, releasing subtle groans as he leaned even more of his weight onto his arm. 

He couldn’t wallow in self pity though. He was still worried about Nines, and that was his _main_ concern right now. Plus, he wanted to find him before Gavin to spare him the excess yelling. 

There was a feature he’d never tried before, and really, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to still do it. He couldn’t work out which of his programs he could still operate, and how to access his HUD on command. 

There was an option to connect with another android via their built in bluetooth… essentially. Communicating nonverbally, akin to how others hear their conscious. He wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, but he knew they were the only two androids at the station, so it was worth the shot. No one could interfere, and it was a surer bet than barging in on someone else during their private times.

 _Nines_ , he thought, and for once, he’d heard feedback of his own voice. Christ, is that _really_ what he sounded like? 

Connor didn’t know what he was doing, or if he’d reached him. And so he just waited for a response back, his left leg beginning to bounce. 

After a few minutes of standing there restlessly, a voice that wasn’t his own reverberated like his skull was made of concrete (which, it wasn’t. Titanium maybe.) _Yes, Connor?_

He breathily chuckled, astounded. _I didn’t know this would work. Where are you?_

It wasn’t an immediate reply. _I would like to be left alone._

Connor stroked his chin. He turned to leave the bathroom and went with his second guess; there was a garden you could access when you left from the backdoor and turned left. It wasn’t large and hidden enough that if you didn’t know it was there, you’d easily walk by it, pay it no mind. Most of the flowers were dead by now, and the grounds were still sugar coated in a thin white, but Connor knew there were a few sets of benches. And that if he needed a place to destress, that would be his choice pick.

_Alright._

_Alright._

Connor wasn’t going to leave him alone. Obviously. Exiting the door, he found footprints, and sure enough, there he was. Sitting on a bench with his back hunched, looking irritated beyond belief. 

"And I see you’re not going to respect my privacy. Did detective Reed tell you to come find me?"

"No, not exactly. I wanted to come and make sure you're—"

"I'm fine, detective,” Nines snapped.

The first thing he noticed was his LED, still stuck in a chronic state of red. "Are you though? You don't seem okay."

"Yes. I am perfectly fine and I’d rather be alone and not have you bother me right now."

There was a family of geese flying over them, honking to each other. "Alright. I can go if you want me to."

"Yes, thank you."

Connor nodded. He moved to leave when Nines spoke again. "No I'm— I'm sorry. Stay with me."

"Are you sure?"

“Yes, please. I’d like your company.”

Connor brushed away chunks of snow and cleared a spot for himself on the bench, sitting beside Nines. He crossed his legs, hands folded over his knee as Nines only huddled closer to his own body. Though, he was trying to keep his head up. 

"I haven’t been able to enter stasis in over forty three hours.”

That would explain the drastic shift in his attitude. “You need to rest, or you’re going to shut down, forcibly.”

“I _know_ that,” he did sound quite drained, a static undertone as he spoke, like there wasn’t as much energy behind his words now. “But I don’t have anywhere to _go_ to rest.”

“I’m sure Fowler wouldn’t mind you staying overnight if you asked him, nicely. The station gets quiet past midnight.”

His fingers dug into the curve of his chin, skin retracting. His plating underneath was a dark gunmetal. “During the drive back here, Reed wouldn’t look at me. I asked him a question, pertaining to our case as well, and he still didn’t answer. He seems to get a rise out of ignoring me.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?”

“I’m not bothered by it. However, I don’t understand.” He blinked at Connor. “Everyone here seems to like you. You have lieutenant Anderson, and a home, and a uniform that isn’t plastered with ‘android’. Meanwhile my partner would rather leave me locked in his car than answer a simple three word question.”

“Are you _sure_ this isn’t what’s bothering you?”

He stiffened, leaning his back against the bench. “I don’t get bothered by things because I can’t _feel_ , Connor.”

“Okay, alright,” Connor raised his hands. “I think you need to go ask Fowler about staying the night, now. You could sleep in the break room possibly. Though it’s occupied right now.” 

“I can try.”

“Sleep’ll help you feel better. You seem agitated right now. Tomorrow will be better.”

“I truly hope so.” Nines reached into his pocket, fiddling with something. “Connor?”

“Yes?”

“Markus didn’t have a LED, did he? I didn’t notice one.”

“No. He took his out.”

“Why?”

“To blend in better with society? So he could pass for human.”

“Hm. Interesting.”

“Why do you ask?”

Nines touched his. “I don’t like the look of it. I was curious if he was made without one.”

“You want to take yours out?”

“No, I don’t. I’m not fond of it, but I won’t remove it. Why have you kept yours?”

Connor shrugged. “I don’t think it’s anything I should be ashamed of. It’s just… a part of me.”

Metal creaked, there was a loud huff of breath, and then heavy steps began to march towards them. “Oh fucking Christ, there you are,” Nines recoiled at Gavin’s scolding. “Anytime I actually need you, you fucking disappear. So goddamn useless. What’s the point of having an android if it doesn’t fucking do anything?” He glared at Connor. “Thanks for telling me you found him, asshole. Hank wants to see you too, by the way,” and then he latched onto Nines’ wrist, violently yanking him upright. He stumbled, and definitely would’ve fallen on his ass if Connor hadn’t steadied him, pressing against his back.

“Don’t be so rough with him. He needs to sleep.”

“Excuse me? _It_ needs to work is what _it_ needs to do. We’re so fucking behind now.”

“You can work by yourself, too. Isn’t that what you’re used to?” 

“You need to keep your nose in your own goddamn business,” Gavin fumbled around for his carton of cigarettes, biting one between his teeth.

Now, this was something Connor learned to enjoy. Annoying Gavin, pushing his buttons. Getting under his skin. He liked to see the figurative smoke burst from his ears. Though he wholeheartedly despised the man, he did enjoy their bickering, when he had the upper hand. “I was out here first. So, technically, this _is_ my business.”

He smacked two fingers against Connor’s chest, knocking him off balance.“When I tell you to do something, you fucking listen.”

“We don’t live in that kind of world anymore, Reed.” 

“God, I hate you,” Gavin laughed derisively, lighting the butt of the cig.

“I’ll be fine to work, at least for a few more hours,” Nines interjected.

“You’ll be _fine to work_ until I tell you we’re done. Got it?” Gavin took a deep inhale.

Nines LED had finally transitioned to yellow, but now in a quick flash, it was back at red. “Understood.”

Gavin let the exhale puff of smoke hit Connor’s cheek, overwhelmingly warm and clouding his vision. The smell was disgusting. Then, Gavin pointed a thumb behind his shoulder. “Leave us alone now. Daddy’s waiting,” he turned his chin upwards. “You owe me a new shirt, by the way.”

“You owe me one first.”

“Yeah. whatever. Bill me.” 

He wanted to grab the cigarette from his fingers and hold him down, press it against his skin. Watch as he writhed in pain, because he needed a taste of his own medicine. Normally these dark thoughts didn’t pollute Connor’s think space (that often, at least), and when they did, sometimes he got scared. Because he knew there was still a dangerous side of him lurking, the side that could kill a man without even blinking. But goddamnit, Gavin pushed him over the edge. 

As much as he wanted to, he wasn’t going to do that though, because it was inappropriate. He knew he could realistically take Gavin down without too much of a fight; he was a smaller guy, and Connor had a few inches on him. But he could see Fowler and imagine Hank’s disappointment if he found them tangled in a bloody mess. Violence didn’t solve anything. He remembered once reading a quote, something along the lines of ‘ _kill them with kindness_ ’. 

So through clenched teeth, he said, “have a good night. Both of you.” Gavin made some remark under his breath but he tuned him out. And when he was back with Hank, he was immediately met with a jacket being tossed at his face. He just merely missed it.

“Hey there. If we get going now, we’ll miss rush hour.”

“Going… where, exactly?”

Hank tried to conceal his smile, but failed. “Clothes shopping.”

"Oh," he breathed. "Oh _no_."

"Oh yes. You can't borrow my clothes forever.”

"Why not?"

"Because they're _mine_. And plus, they don't even fit you.”

“But— Hank, I don’t have any,” he trailed off.

“Hm?” he said absentmindedly, turning off his computer. 

“I don’t have money.”

“Don’t worry about that. Merry Christmas.”

“It’s November.”

“Happy _early_ Christmas.”

* * *

“You’ve never been to a mall before, huh?” Hank checked his phone before shoving it into his pocket.

Connor was sure there were clothing stores downtown, at least a lot closer to where Hank lived. Maybe they were still closed. They’d driven almost thirty minutes to Troy, and now were inside an overwhelmingly large building. It wasn’t overtly busy, but it wasn’t quite dead either. He’d noticed some shops were barred up and closed, notes similar to the ones they’d seen that morning pasted to windows. 

There were two stories, the ceiling an open skylight. He could see the sun setting through the glass. Generic pop music was playing but he focused on blenders furiously grinding coffee. Mop buckets were being dragged to the food court to start cleaning up for the day. 

“I haven’t.”

“Well, that’s exciting, isn’t it? One of the last in the area. Big chunk of retail stores went out of business a few years ago,” Hank took a sip of his sugary looking nightmare. It was pink in color, topped off with whip cream and sprinkles. “Don’t think I’ve been to a mall myself in… since the nineties.”

“ _Nineties_?” Connor repeated, snorting.

“Yeah, alright. I’m ancient. Feels like just yesterday that dinosaurs were still roaming earth. Where to first? Your pick."

He looked around. He didn’t know where to start, what Hank even wanted him to _buy_. He didn’t want to spend too much of his money. He already felt undeserving of the spree. “I-I don’t know. I don’t know what’s here, or what to look for.”

“Here,” he pulled on Connor’s sleeve. There was a tall slab of clear glass, a picture of the malls layout glowing on it. “This is the list of men’s stores,” he tapped his nail against a small section on the bottom.

“Um,” he scratched at his neck, “which of them is the least expensive?”

Hank gave him a look before nodding his head, signaling for Connor to follow him. “Told you not to worry about that. If you see anything that catches your eyes, just let me know.”

There was a group of teenagers, taking photos and talking obnoxiously loud, possibly waiting around for their parents. They had large bags slung over their arms, a few more on the floor surrounding them. And there was a Cyberlife store, its interior a blinding white, sign lit up a pale blue. Still open and full of customers selfishly observing the models on display. Hank blocked his line of sight.

“Probably best if you don’t look, Con.”

“I wish we could help them.”

“I know. Me too. That’s not an option though. At least, not now.”

“Right.”

And on his right was a sleeker looking store. Large windows and open doors accented with a shimmering gold. The outside paneling was a glossy black stone, an expensive looking marble flooring. There was a large crystal chandelier inside. And the mannequins in the windows were dressed to the nines, strutting brown fur coats and fitted two piece suits.

“Hank. Can we go here?” he asked, but when Hank saw the store, he started choking.

“Gucci—” Hank coughed, wiping his mouth, “Con, no, keep walking.”

He frowned. “Is that not a good store?”

“Not good for a wallet. Anywhere, _but_ there.”

So they found themselves in a different store, a much more _affordable_ one, full of disorganized racks of clothing. They’d traveled to the back of the shop, where the fewest amount of people were. The employees looked bored out of their minds, waiting behind the registers, talking to each other.

Hank held up a shirt to him. “You want a new button-up? I tried to get the coffee out of yours, but, Gavin really did a number on it.”

“Oh. Sure,” he rubbed his chin. He picked up a beige hoodie, stroking over the fabric. It felt rough against his thumbs, but the inside was warm. Lined with something fuzzy.

“I know this is overwhelming, Connor. Just pick up whatever you want. There’s a dressing room somewhere. You can try things on, see if you like them or not.”

“Okay,” he carefully folded the hoodie, keeping it lain across his arm. “How many things do you want me to get?”

Hank shrugged, throwing away his empty drink container. “A couple pairs of sleep pants, some shirts, maybe a new tie. And some everyday pants that aren’t your black ones. You can still borrow my jackets, if you want.”

Connor faintly smiled. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” Hank moved to a different display, away from the walls. “And… you probably should get some more socks and boxers too.”

Connor picked out a package of black briefs and a set of crew socks. He quietly spoke under his breath. “So Nines talked to me earlier— he was the one that approached the conversation first, actually.” 

“I saw you two chitchatting. And? Did you get any of the answers you’re looking for?”

It wasn’t like a list of commands popped up, but he had ideas. He could tell Hank about how Kamski made him, how Nines was supposed to be a copy of him. How he was basically his brother. Maybe tell him about Gavin’s mistreatment. He knew it’d all come spilling out anyways. He wasn’t particularly good at keeping things from Hank.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sort of? He knew he was making me nervous. He kept scanning me and reading my emotions back to me,” then he half laughed. “I didn’t like that.”

Hank gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Now you know how I feel.”

“I’m sorry for ever scanning you,” he said sarcastically. “He does know why he was made. He said he was originally created to replace me and take over my job. But,” he looked at Hank, “after we saw Kamski, I guess he wiped him clean and erased his programming. All of it, for the most part. Kamski knew I was going to deviate from day one.”

“Really?”

Connor nodded. “He was always watching. Every move I made, every thought I had. He was inside my head, probably talking to me through Amanda.” Ah yes, there it was. He could feel a pressure bubbling inside his chest, and everything surfaced; memories he wanted to forget, pain he didn’t want to suffer alone with.

“I remember my first case, with Daniel. I saw him standing out there on that balcony, hanging over the ledge. My goal was to save that little girl and make sure she was okay. Not like her entire family hadn’t been murdered in front of her anyways. She was screaming for help, tears streaking down her face. But Daniel was just as scared.

“All he wanted was to be free. He felt betrayed by the only people he’d ever known, that he thought had cared about him, and loved him. But they wanted to give him away. And he didn’t want to die, because no one really does. He begged me to let him go, and I… I felt for him. I felt bad that there were five guns trained on him, and even though he was covered in someone else’s blood and dangling a kid seventy feet in the air, I just wanted to help him. I wanted to let him go.”

Connor moved to look at a selection of ties. He needed something to ground him. “The girl was safe, and he started to _trust_ me. And I believed myself too. That we were going to get him out of there, unharmed. Sure, he would’ve been turned to scrap metal at the compound, but in the moment, I thought I could promise him safety. But then they shot him, and any glimmer of hope he had in his eyes died as he did. He looked at me and he was dripping thirium everywhere, choking on the blood, and there was a rage. He died staring me down.

“That was my first day on the job and I was already questioning what the hell I was doing. Watching a man die while the girl got sent off to an orphanage where she probably had an even worse life. And I returned back to Cyberlife, confused, but under the notion that this was normal. That this was all okay. I couldn’t tell them I felt scared, or sad, or that I hated myself for not saving him.” 

He let the fabric go, and when he turned around, Hank’s expression was solemn. Everything was blurry. He hated crying, more than guilt, more than being yelled at. It was uncomfortable as hell. “I’m sorry. I just… I dumped that all on you.” 

Hank sighed through his nostrils. “You needed to let it out. Kiddo, I wish I could make you feel better. Just make all the bad things go away.”

He wiped at his eyes. “Yeah. I wish I could too. I’ve considered ways of erasing my memory, but I didn’t, in case it’d erase you too. I don’t think I can cherry pick the things I don’t want to remember.” 

“It’s the bad shit in life that shapes us. Even if we don’t want to remember it. Keeps us from being assholes and makes us grow up. Every bad memory is a lesson, in some shape or form.”

Connor nodded. “Without cases like Daniel, or Simon, or Traci, I don’t know if I would’ve awoken in time. And that’s an even scarier thought to me. If I’d deviated after everyone was dead.”

Hank picked up a graphic tee, pinched between two fingers; it was a washed out white with a vintage looking photograph of two palm trees on a beach. He added it to their growing pile. 

“Yeah, no, I agree. It’s scary. I had my own arrangements laid out if your plan went to shit.” 

Connor squeezed his eyes shut. He could only imagine. “I don’t want to think about that either, Hank.” He felt him cup his neck. 

“And we don’t have to. We’re supposed to be having fun, getting you new clothes. Not worrying about death and destruction.”

Connor blinked, half chuckling. The tears on his cheeks were dry, but his face felt tight now. “This all just makes the story Kamski preached even more flawed. Because, why? Why would he erase his programming and not still send him after deviants when he knew I failed? Why’d he not stop me sooner?”

“I don’t know. You’re not wrong about someone needing to interrogate him. But, going about that won’t be easy. It was hard enough for us to talk to him, I don’t know if Gavin and Nines would even have a fair shot.” Hank glanced at his watch briefly. “So, I guess that leaves the question: Is Nines a deviant?”

“No. He’s not— he’s not really _either_. It’s like he’s stuck in limbo. A conscious machine. He asked me to show him how it felt when I deviated.”

“And did you?”

“No,” he lowered his brows, face twisting. “He needs to focus on his case. I told him that. That’s the whole reason I can’t handle it, because I feel too much. He doesn’t need to be in the same situation as me. Because then him coming here would be utterly pointless.”

“You think it’s worse punishment leaving him like that though?”

“What do you mean?”

“What you just said. He’s a conscious machine. Doesn’t sound like a good life to me.”

“Him feeling isn’t going to make his life any better. On the contrary, it’ll probably make everything worse. And maybe I’m feeling protective because I guess he’s _technically_ my brother, but,” Connor wasn’t sure if he liked that, having a brother. Or Nines _being_ his brother, rather. “He’s here to solve a case. What if the same thing happens to him where he can’t access his HUD anymore, or scan things to collect data? What if Fowler sends both of us to be terminated, and—”

“Okay, _Connor_ ,” Hank slung a pair of pants across his arm, clasping both of Connor’s shoulders. “You’re freaking yourself out again. What did I just say? It’s father son fun time. No death. You gotta slow down. No one is going to hurt you, or shut you down. _Either_ of you.”

“But, can you promise me that?”

He sighed. “No. I can’t promise you. But you gotta trust me that I’d never willingly let anyone take you from me. You trust me, right?”

“More than anyone.”

“Good,” Hank ruffled his hair. “All I’m saying is, I saw how miserable you were. And, I know, you couldn’t express it at the time. But I could see the war going on inside your head. You show everything on your face.”

Connor touched his own cheek. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Not something you have to decide right now. Now let’s stop talking about him. We’re here to focus on you. What’re you gonna wear to the concert?”

Connor picked up a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, and Hank chuckled. “Ah. Very punk rock. Very…”

“Don’t,” he warned.

“Deviant,” Hank teased.

Connor rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, something comfortable, probably.” 

“Smart. Go try these on,” he transferred the overwhelmingly stacked pile of clothes to Connor without grace. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Was gonna look at some sneakers.”

“Wait. I need your opinion.”

Hank had a dumfounded expression. “You wanna give me a fashion show?”

“I need you to tell me if I look stupid or not.”

“You’re not gonna look stupid, kid.”

Connor gave him a puppydog look, and Hank eventually groaned, giving in. “ _Fine_. The shoes were gonna be for you too.”

“We can look after.”

They went to the dressing room area. No one else was back there, thankfully. There was a small lounge area and a plethora of open stalls. He picked one and went in, Hank planting himself in a chair.

He was still in his uniform but had a jacket over his shirt, so it’s not like anyone could even tell. He took off the jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping into that shirt Hank had showed him earlier. He kicked off his shoes and slid into the jeans carefully. His foot got trapped in one of the wrong holes and he lost balance, hopping around until he caught himself against a wall, letting his head fall back. He slithered through the ankle cuff. He already hated these.

He looked at himself in the mirror. The shirt was far too baggy, and the pants showed too much of his knees for his liking. And on top of that, he just felt plain silly. He wasn’t used to making his own decisions when it came to the way he wanted to look. He didn’t mind living in uniform when it made the deciding factor easier. 

He slowly opened the stall door. “I _feel_ stupid.”

Hank’s lips went flat, but he could see the outline of a grin. “So maybe ripped jeans aren’t your thing. No one likes shopping for clothes. It’s always awkward and uncomfortable. Try something else on.” And then he held up a hand to him. “I’m not laughing _at_ you, by the way. You clean up nice.”

“Do I have to try more on,” he whined. “The clothes I have are fine.”

“You have one pair of pants that are just waiting to burst at the seams, _and_ a stained shirt. _Yes_ you have to.”

“But.” Hank shook his head, waving his finger.

“I don’t wanna hear it. You need these.”

Giving in, he went back to the dressing room, picking up a long sleeved sweater. He put that on instead and a pair of, still skinny but more sewn together, dark washed pants. While he was changing, Hank started talking.

“Hey, Connor. I got a text about Rebecca’s case.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he didn’t sound too happy. “They let the fucker go because legally there was nothing they could charge, or hold, him for if the abuse didn’t happen to a human. Would’ve been a different story if it was his wife, or kid.” Hank swore under his breath. “This is fucked.”

Connor dropped the beanie he was holding, fumbling for it. “No. That’s— that’s not _fair_. She was abused. We have the evidence to prove it.”

“I know we do. But, until android specific laws are established, guess there ain’t shit we can do.”

“So if someone murders an android, what,” he opened the door, peeking at Hank. “They’ll get away with it because it’s okay to murder something if they bleed anything other than red?”

Hank shrugged loosely. “We can still fight for justice, but sometimes, there’s only so much we can do. We’re only ants in the system.”

“No, that doesn’t make any sense. Can’t we protest?”

Hank clicked his tongue. “What, Connor, you wanna go stand outside the state capital with handmade signs?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“The governor is aware of the state’s current situation, as is legislation. It won’t be like this forever. It sucks, but, that’s at least somewhat reassuring.” Hank brushed his remark off, scanning him up and down instead. “What you have on suits you better.”

Connor was disturbed, and he could feel himself getting bothered. But he knew they needed to get this done first. “Do you think so? I like it more.”

“Mhm,” he nodded. “Think you should stick to darker colors and casual. No hipster shit.”

“What’s—”

“What you were just wearing.”

“Oh. I don’t understand why someone would buy pants with holes in them, purposely?”

“And you’re asking me? I don’t get it either. But, I’m not really a man of style, so I’m probably not the best judge.”

“Oh, come on. You’re stylish, Hank. I’ve seen your selection of paisley shirts.”

“Is there a way to turn your sarcasm unit off?”

Connor snickered. “Unfortunately _no_.”

“Real unfortunate,” he glanced at his watch. “Okay, hurry up. We only have thirty minutes left before they’re gonna start closing. Still need to get you shoes after this. And me dinner.”

* * *

The ride back was filled with silence. Hank had turned on the radio, but the stations weren’t coming in clearly, so eventually they listened to nothing but the gravel hitting against the tires. 

It wasn’t fair for Rebecca. It wasn’t ethical Jack was still out there. Like he was being rewarded for his behavior, given a slap on the wrist and told that as long as the abuse stays to androids, it’s fine. And who’s to say he wouldn’t go out and buy another, the cycle starting all over again. He had money.

Hank didn’t ask, or prompt him to talk. He could see the bags forming under the older man’s eyes. They were both spent. 

When they were finally back home, it was dark out. Hank dropped the plethora of branded white and red bags down on the couch, Sumo curiously wandering over to sniff them one by one, getting his head stuck in the handle of one. Connor helped him wiggle out. 

“I have a full length mirror in the bedroom, y’know,” he said softly.

“But, that’s your space.”

Hank shrugged. “I don’t care if you go in there. Just don’t fuck anything up. I have white sheets.” He set his new drink down— a soda that he’d paired with a pizza— digging through the bag. He pulled out a pair of pajama bottoms and a sweater, giving them to him. And then he pulled out a pack of briefs, wincing before setting them on top.

“Shouldn’t we wash these first?”

“Eh. They’re clean enough. C’mon, go change. Then we can watch something.” 

That’d become tradition now for them. If they were able to be back home for dinner, and weren’t utterly exhausted by the time they got back, they liked to turn on a movie. Connor hadn’t seen any, so he was curious about _everything_. And Hank’s movie collection was expansive. 

Connor walked into Hank’s room, closing the door halfway. He set the things down on his unmade bed. There was a photo on his nightstand of a puppy, and a much younger Hank, when his hair was still brown. He smiled.

After he changed, he still found himself staring in the mirror. He looked… normal. Like he could actually _be_ Hank’s son. His arms were bare and it was then that he realized how many freckles he had. And then his touch shifted to his hair, and still, it felt too long and heavy. 

“Hank,” he called. Only a few seconds later, he heard him stop outside the door.

“You want me to come in?”

“Yes.”

He creaked open the door. “What’s up?”

He tugged on a strand. “My hair’s getting long.”

Hank’s brows furrowed. “Does your hair, uh… grow?”

He nodded. “Not as fast as yours, but it does.”

“Hm,” he rubbed over the scruff of his beard, “guess we could try finding a place to cut it tomorrow or something.”

But he looked at Hank again with pleading eyes. “Unless…”

“Oh, Jesus. You want _me_ to cut it?”

“Have you cut hair before?”

“Do I look like I know anything about cutting hair?” he flipped his own unkempt hair, but then he laughed. “I used to shave a buddy’s hair in college for pocket change. I know how to do that much.”

“Could you shave the sides?”

“Kid, I don’t really have salon supplies. I only have a beard trimmer and paper cutting scissors. You think that’d work?”

“Maybe. It’s worth a try.”

Hank rubbed his temples. “Go sit down,” he pointed to the bathroom. 

Connor flicked on the lights, sitting on the edge of the tub. Hank dug around under the sink until he hummed to himself, pulling out a pair of rusty scissors and a beard trimmer that looked well past its warranty. 

“How do you want it? Shaved on the sides but long on top?”

“Maybe a little shorter on top too.” ‘Googling’ for a photo was a lot easier than he thought it would be. He found a photo he liked and turned his hand upright, showing Hank the picture displayed in his palm. “Like this.”

“What?” He was confused. “What are you showing me— your _hand_?”

He looked again; there was a clear image of a younger guy with short brown hair, curled at the roots. “You can’t see it?”

“What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“A picture.”

“You can project pictures on your hand?”

Connor nodded. “I guess only for myself though, which is a waste of a talent…”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Amazing talent. So sad I have to miss out. Mm, okay. I’ll see what I can do. I know the sorta style you’re talking about,” he grabbed a towel, “cover your shirt.”

He slung it over his shoulders. 

“Ready?” he said, setting the trimmer down first. He looked focused, his tongue sticking out from the side of his mouth.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Hank began to carefully snip away at the ends. “So, your hair is made of what, exactly? Also plastic?”

“Synthetic fibers.”

“And it grows how?”

“Because of the thirium. Like how any cut or scratch I get can self heal. It works in the same way,” he smirked. “And you know what else it can do?”

“What’s that?”

He thought really hard about changing his hair color, to blond specifically. And based on Hank’s reaction, he must’ve done it. Hank leaped back.

“Holy shit, _what_ the _fuck_. You project pictures on your hand, your hair changes color on demand…”

“I’m sorry,” he snorted. “Maybe I should have warned you.”

“Yeah, maybe. Although that’s awfully convenient.” 

“How do I look blond?”

Hank’s nose wrinkled. “You make a better brunet.” 

“Point taken,” his hair changed back to its normal color, he could tell as brown chunks fell to the ground. 

“Excited for tomorrow still?”

“I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Buncha sweaty drunk people, banging their heads to mediocre metal.”

“ _Fun_.”

“Oh, it is, Connor. It’s the best,” He picked up the trimmer and turned it on. Connor could feel the vibrations against his head. “Heard anymore from Traci?”

“Only that they’ve made it to the women’s shelter safely. I also informed Rebecca on the current status of Jack’s release.”

“I’m glad she’s safe, at least. That’s one positive.” 

He paused. “Yeah.” 

“What’re you thinking about?” Hank quietly asked. 

Connor glanced at him. “I saw that photo of you and Sumo on your nightstand. I hadn’t noticed it before.”

“Oh. Yeah, I dug it up the other day. Found it stuffed away in my closet. That was a month after I’d found him.”

“Was this before you had Cole?”

“Mhm. He was a stray. Only a few weeks old and wandering around alongside a back road. Thought he might’ve gotten out from one of the farms, and we’d made posters for him. But no one called us back. So we took him in. He was a sick puppy. Ear mites, worms, ticks. He was a mess,” he set the trimmer down. “And he didn’t have his mom, so Kathy and I took turns nursing him with a bottle.”

“Kathy?”

“My ex-wife.”

“I’ve never heard you say her name before.”

“Because I try _not_ to say it,” he took the towel from him. “Tell me what you think. It’s not _perfect_ , but, that’s what you get for asking me.”

Connor stood up, leaning over the sink. He brushed his fingers against the newly shaved sides. “You did a good job.”

“Yeah? You’re not just trying to be nice?”

Connor laughed. “No, no really. It looks good, Hank. Thanks.”

“‘course, kiddo,” then he looked at the floor, and Connor followed his eyes.

“I can clean that up—”

“Later. We’ll deal with it in the morning. Dinner and movie first,” Hank flipped the lights off and made his way to the kitchen, Connor following. “Cole loved him.”

“I can see why. He’s a sweet dog,” he said as Sumo came prancing over to him, licking at his wrists.

“He was protective over Cole. Slept beside his crib every night, barked at us if he even coughed.” Then Hank chuckled. “I use to, uh, do this thing before Cole left for school in the morning. Kathy would drive him in the mornings, so before they left, I’d scoop Cole up in my arms. Grab him by his ankles and hang him upside down until Sumo came running in. He’d lick at his face, and Cole loved it.”

Hank’s eyes were red and glossy. But he moved away before Connor could focus on him. He wanted to ask more; about his ex-wife, when they’d divorced. About Cole. But he knew he shouldn’t push it right now, unless he offered.

“Pick something out to watch,” he called back to him. Connor could hear a bag rustling. He went to one of his wooden bookshelves and pulled out the first thing that caught his eye; a movie with an orange clownfish on the cover. 

Hank came back with a plate in one hand and glass of water in the other. “ _Really_?”

“What? Is it a bad choice?”

“Ironic, rather. You know what that one’s about?”

He shook his head.

“A father that loses his son.” 

Ouch. “Oh. I can pick another.”

“No, no. Put it in. Not to spoil it or anything, but the endings happy.”

Connor plopped the disc in and sat next to Hank, Sumo jumping up next to him. He tucked his legs against his chest, stroking Sumo’s head. He glanced at Hank, and he caught his eyes.

“ _What_?” he said between bites. “You wanna know more, don’t you.” Connor nodded, so he added, “go ahead.”

“Are you sure? Because, I don’t want to pester you.”

“You pester me enough as it is. Ask me before I change my mind.” 

“Okay. When did you and Kathy divorce?”

He sighed. “A year before Cole was born. Thought we could make it work, and it only got catastrophic after he died.” He set his plate down. “Things were already shit before we knew he was a thing. He wasn’t planned, it just— one drunken night led to her calling me four weeks later hysterical. And we tried to become friends again, for him. She blamed me for everything, because it was my weekend with him. And it took me so damn long to win partial custody over him. Our first official weekend together, and,” he cleared his throat.

“Hank,” he moved closer, wanting to comfort him, but Hank shook his head.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” he rubbed at his eyes. “God, now I want a drink. There’s been a lot of crying today, huh?”

“No. No beer tonight, please. Let’s just watch the movie, okay?”

“Why are you so damn concerned with me drinking all of the sudden?”

“Because I don’t want you killing yourself. I can’t have you leave me.” Where did that come from? He knew he should’ve stopped at the first sentence, or before that even. Maybe he never should’ve spoken at all. “I need you.”

Hank opened his mouth, but then closed it again, smacking his lips. He didn’t get up. “I’m not leaving you, kid.”

“You have to _promise_ me,” he held out his pinky. He felt so damn clingy and attached, but Hank was all he really knew. He didn’t know how he would navigate life if he didn’t have Hank. Hank really was like his father, his guide. Teaching him right from wrong, but still allowing him to think for himself.

Hank wrapped his finger with his. “Promise. I’m not going anywhere, Connor.” 

“Okay. I believe you.” 

“I mean it.”

He let out a puff of relief, but in the same breath, he said, “you need to find a way to come to peace with him being gone, Hank.”

“ _That’s_ not going to happen. Ever.” He fiddled with the controller, turning up the volume. “Look, I’m happy to do the whole fatherhood thing all over again. But I’m never gonna be able to accept that my little boys gone.”

“It’s going to haunt you for the rest of your life if you don’t. You’ve said that to me before.”

“Shit already does haunt me. Everything does. I’m sorry, but it’s not something you can understand unless you’ve lost your own damn kid.”

Connor now only felt guilt, and selfish. He understood with feelings, you couldn’t only think about yourself. You had to also consider those you cared about. But, it was hard to not be self centered, sometimes. 

But Hank cleared the air. “I’m not trying to replace him with you. You know that, right?”

“I know you’re not.”

“Okay, good. Because that’s not what this is. I’m not using you to fill the void because I miss him.”

Connor was already close enough to Hank that he could feel his body heat. And with hesitation, he leaned his head against his shoulder. 

He brushed Connor’s hair behind his ear. “You’re not replacing my son. You’re my son, too, Connor.” 


	8. Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s hard to see joy through sad eyes; but he did so for Hank. He tried to find solace in the little things he wanted Connor to experience, like seeing his first concert.
> 
> And Connor finds himself surprised when he realizes just how much fun he’s having, enjoying listening to music, blending in with a crowd. He’s getting in the mood, relaxing and letting himself dance, enjoy the night, when he gets an urgent call from Markus. 
> 
> They’re never done working.

To be so carefree and detached from your earthly bound problems that it felt like you were no more than a speck of dirt cruising by. No strings attached and you’re free to do whatever you please. Everything seems so meaningless when you’re engulfed by the vast universe, surrounded by a brittle, quaint silence. When you can’t hear your own breathing, not occupied by your own thinking. 

Murder wasn’t a problem in space, nor were taxes or finding a warm place to stay at night. Space was upfront; it never lied to you. You knew what it was, and it accepted you as part of the trillions of things that existed inside of it. You get a free show of stars flashing, comets darting to get wherever it was that they were in a hurry to reach. Connor felt delicate, like a bird’s feather drifting from the sky. He orbited with congruent planets like it was only natural. 

Whenever Connor was emotionally drained, or stressed to the point that he wanted to, in the most literal sense, rip out his hair, this is where he found himself dissociating to. He’d consider this his happier place, much more tolerable than reality half the time. And sometimes when he was too wired to enter stasis, in constant fear another nightmare would creep up, one he wouldn’t be able to pull himself from, he’d come here instead. 

At first, he’d feared this was only another trick, a zen garden in disguise and something uglier was hiding behind the curtains. But the more time he spent here, the more he grew to enjoy the solitude.

This was his place where there was no pressure to be anything or anybody, other than Connor. Another body passing through the galaxy, on a questless journey. He wasn’t burdened with questions here, about _why_ or _how_ , or even who. He could breathe, or hold his breath if he wanted to. Everything was on his basis, his choice in this space he created.

Flashes of light sparkled around him like fairy dust. Not blinding, but only bringing a feeling of comfort and childlike wonderment as he watched the unique patterns paint lines and shapes that were unfamiliar to the nondescript stars that only served for the purpose of a backdrop, like non detailed sets in a play. 

An atramentous void that was seemingly endless and now, low colors flickered. There was a contained crash— the first unusual thing he’d experienced in what felt like hours. Hours that moved by at a strenuous rate, slower than the thickest molasses. He couldn’t hear it and maybe he’d strained to listen at first, but it was only a strong tremble of vibrations. A bomb exploding in the ocean, pressure built up and violently bursting, but as silent as it was deadly. 

He felt a warmth fill him as he watched the creation of something new. A world forming, smooth and it was pure perfection. It looked like a glass marble, so close he could reach out and touch it, cradling the new land in the palm of his hand. Free of any life, untainted by human creations. This little land was his, and he could design it however he wanted. Master of his own fate, his own destiny, for once. Turn it into his ideal home, if he felt inclined. Play God in his own story. 

He could be a little self indulgent, couldn’t he? This was his tale, after all. And he deserved it. He held the planet closer, clutched over where his heart should’ve been. And with two blinks, he was transported to this new world. 

Sitting at Hank’s dining table, how he’d remembered it always being. Chair made of a wood firm enough to give an android a backache. Everything seemed so much more vibrant though, saturation cranked up to a hundred. There were hues he’d never paid attention to before. 

Wind on his bare neck, sheer curtains rustling; it was a breezy summer day, and the windows were cracked open a smidge. The morning doves were awake and ready to face the day head on, serenading the neighborhood with a cheerful ballad.

Now he was noticing the differences in this scenario; the tons of brown moving boxes cluttering Hank’s normally empty floors. He’d held a spoon in his hand, a bowl of colorful, albeit, soggy, sugary loops placed in front of him. His feet dangled from his chair, and he wore a pair of shorts. He could tell his legs were a lot shorter too. The air felt cool against his smooth skin. 

Directly across from him was another ceramic bowl, though red in color (his was a sky blue), and a spiral bound sketchbook, flipped open to its first page. There was a pile of abandoned markers. 

There seemed to be a sketch of three distinct people, obviously crafted by the hands of a child. But the drawing wasn’t crude, no, far from it. Each line seemed planned out, and premeditated, and precise. How a machine would go about printing something, with clean, smooth strokes. The definition of each character was remarkable considering the lack of intricacy; Hank stood in the middle of two children, their hands in either of his. Both children had similar length brown hair, wearing grins of glee. 

And Connor noticed a few more drawings taped to the fridge, as well as some wrinkled photographs. One of a young Sumo frolicking in a field of grass (the image of Sumo was replicated from the photo he’d seen on Hank’s nightstand), a drawing of a garden, and a photograph of Hank with a tiny newborn cradled in his arms, wrapped in a blanket. But the face of the baby was… it was his. That was a cheerful, blissfully unaware baby Connor, and now here he was, sat in Hank’s house as a child. 

He’d heard a tap from behind him, and so he craned his neck. Hank was wrapping a few mugs in a cut square of bubble wrap. His hair was a chestnut brown with a natural healthy sheen, long and slicked back, pulled into a ponytail. He’d placed the objects into what seemed to be the final unsealed box. A smile formed when he’d caught Connor’s curious eyes. His lips were pinker, his skin clearer.

“It’s moving day, kiddo,” he said. His voice was much softer, lacking the heaviness that was usually there. He moved to gather the papers from the fridge, peeling them off one by one. And he ruffled his free hand through Connor’s short tufts. “You excited?”

“Yes. Of course,” he nodded, quite quickly at that. Hank chuckled. There was a squeaky bark, and Connor noticed a puppy scratching at the back door to get outside. He was so innocent looking, his eyes as wide as saucers and fur free of any grey. Hank planted a quick kiss to the top of Connor’s scalp before sliding past him, letting Sumo bolt outside.

“Why don’t you go find your brother so we can get going, hm?” 

“My brother,” he wisped. The second figure from the drawing. That must’ve been him. He wasn’t aware he had a brother, not in this place. He must’ve been desiring one, possibly mixing real life with fantasy. 

“Mhm. He’s off somewhere. Gonna play with Sumo for a bit. Go get him.”

He had two guesses, and the drawing being clearly sketched by another android seemed to give leadway to one specific option. But maybe the suspense of uncovering this world first hand would be more exciting. He could treat it as a game, imagine himself as Nancy Drew and pick up clues as he found them. He jumped down from the chair. The walls were so bare, paint faded from where picture frames had once hung. It was odd to see his place this way, even stranger to imagine maybe one day, this wouldn’t be too far-fetched. 

He didn’t know where his brother was. He wasn’t in the living room, and there wasn’t a place to hide, either. All furniture moved and gone, nothing but dust piles and debris. He peeked into the bathroom; post-it notes peeled off the mirror and a sticky residue all but a reminder. Shampoo was thrown away, towels packed. Hank’s room was even more scarce, various scissors scattered about. So that left him with one final room, where the washer and dryer were. He creaked the door open. 

There was a single window in the middle of the two machines. Still pretty dark because the one overhead light didn’t work in there. But he could see a pair of tiny shoes, hiding behind a long drape. Connor’s forehead creased. 

“I know you’re back there,” Connor announced, and he heard giggling in return. So he grabbed a fist full of curtain, tugging it back. And as he did, a kid-like Nines jumped out at him, roaring at him like a lion. Connor stumbled backwards, hand hitting his own chest. He didn’t know what this meant, having Nines as his brother here; if he craved a closer relationship with him (which, he didn’t think he _did_. He didn’t even want him as a friend to begin with), or if Nines wanted a friendship with _him_. Guess that gave him something to think about. 

“Don’t do that!” Connor yelped. 

Nines was all smiles and teeth, his LED a consistent yellow. “Did I scare you, _Connor_?” he teased.

“Almost,” Connor whined. “Come on, dad wanted me to get you so we can go.” But here, in this safe contained place, he would try to befriend him. Here it could all be different. Only happiness, only… perfection. 

“We’re leaving already?”

“Yes. So stop fooling around.” He grabbed Nines’ dainty wrist, tugging him along. 

The three of them piled into the backseat of Hank’s car, Sumo unable to pick one lap to sit on. There was a half sized trailer attached to the back of Hank’s car, pulling along all of their belongings. The second they reached the new house and Hank killed the engine, Connor unlatched his seatbelt and wiggled out. He ran across the lawn like he was competing in a hundred meter dash. He stared and ooh’d and awed at the house, _his_ house, in wonderment. Beautiful and homey, wood on the outside and two stories, a porch big enough for them to play while it was still warm out. 

He reached for the handle, but it was locked. So he waited for Hank, bouncing on his feet as he and his brother approached. 

“We’re home, kiddos,” he said as he fumbled for the key in his pocket, pulling it out and handing it to Connor. “You wanna do the honors?” 

“No fair,” Nines pouted. “Why does he get to do it? I wanted to do it!” 

Hank sighed, though it was lighthearted. “This is his house. Connor gets to unlock it.” 

He pushed onto his tippy toes and turned the handle. He stepped inside for the first time. The house wasn’t huge, but it was cozy. Just right for them. There was a fireplace in the living room, the kind with a mantle that could show off all their future trophies and achievements. The dining space was open, conjoined with the kitchen. Sunshine beamed along the flooring.

But, there was a more important room he needed to check out. Trying not to trip, he dashed up the stairs, darting to what would soon be his room. There were two bedrooms, both decent sizes as well, and a bathroom. His was the smaller one.

A clean slate, possibilities of how he could spruce up the place were endless. Designed however he wanted. He imagined pale blue walls, accented with a honey trim. They became cluttered with framed, and some unevenly hung, posters of comic book characters and dinosaurs and sea creatures. There was a map with marked off destinations of places he wanted to someday visit and glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. In the corner sat a tall bookshelf, stuffed to the brim with picture books and fairy tales, maybe a few novels for Connor’s enjoyment. A short shag rug grew underneath his feet. And when he looked to the right, there was a bunk bed, warm lights strung across the top metal bars. 

He spun around and opened the closet. It was split in half, one side for Connor, the other for Nines. It was full of clothing for any occasion. He could make out a baseball jersey tucked in with his jackets. 

When he closed the door again, he was met with a full length mirror. His LED was pulsing, and he caught the glimpse of red, before he really saw himself. It then stayed blue. A small child version of what he was familiar with. He wasn’t human. But he was Hank’s son, living a childhood that true reality would’ve never allowed him. 

Someone came running, and it was Nines, throwing himself on the bottom bunk. “This one’s mine,” he exclaimed, rolling around and bundling himself in a plaid blanket. 

Next came Hank, but he approached the room much slower, puppy Sumo bundled in his arms. He let out a low chuckle. “Like what you’ve done with the place, Con.” And there was a pride there, so overwhelming. “We can finish exploring the house later, c’mon. Let’s go outside while the suns still out. It’s a beautiful day.” 

So now they’re back outside and Hank had opened the shutters of the moving truck, digging around for something. He pulled out a smaller box, marked on the side as ‘Connor’s stuff’, slicing into it with a box cutter. He dug around until he freed a glove, and an accompanying baseball. He waved the ball at him. “Wanna play?”

Connor nodded excitedly. Nines found himself a spot on the porch with Sumo curled against him, stroking down his fur. 

“Okay. Go stand over there.”

“Here?” Connor asked, a good few feet away. 

“Yeah, perfect. Now when I throw this at you, you’re gonna catch it, okay?” 

“Okay dad.” 

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Hank gave the ball a hearty toss and swung it at him. Connor jumped, catching it in his mitt before it flew over his head.

“Nice catch, sharpshooter!” 

He went to return it back to Hank, but he found himself being lifted from the ground and pulled into a hug, held in Hank’s arms. 

“My happy little boy,” he’d said.

Living in a dollhouse. Maybe this place was worse than his regular nightmares, because he was being taunted with everything he ever wanted. What he needed, but was right out of his reach.

Here, everything was immaculate. The kind of stuff you’d only find in a feel good holiday special. Connor wanted to relish the seconds, take in the tickle of grass above his socks and how Hank could smile without a wrinkle to his eye. Feel the sun beaming on his back, enjoy his family by his side. 

But being here made him feel as incomplete as it did whole. Because when he shifted position on the couch, he was met with the cold, dark reality of Hank’s real house. A living room that accompanied nighttime. His exposed toes felt frigid. 

Here, he didn’t have a bedroom of his own. He wasn’t blissfully ignorant. Too scared to talk to Nines on his own terms.

Instead, he laid with a blanket loosely slung around his cheeks and a soaked pillow underneath his head. He choked on his sobs, trying not to make much noise, but it was hard when all he wanted to do was fucking scream.

Happy boy, happy perfect little Connor he was supposed to be. He was expected to succeed, navigate his trials and tribulations with ease. He couldn’t. Another goddamn thing he failed at.

With the blanket bundled now around his shoulders, he slid off the couch and crept down the hall. The door to Hank’s room was already ajar, and carefully, he slipped inside. 

Sumo was curled at the foot of his bed, and Hank was in an apparent deep sleep. His breaths were labored and fueled by exhaustion. 

As gracefully as he could manage, he peeled back his sheets and climbed under the covers. Sumo peeked his head up, but Connor held a shaky finger to his lips. Sumo seemed to understand and settled down. 

His bed was a lot more comfortable than the couch, and so _so_ warm. He’d made the couch as nice as he could for Connor, and honestly, it didn’t really matter if it’d been stuffed with rocks. Sure his legs could become cramped, but it didn’t hurt, physically. Nothing did. Sometimes he wished he could feel the discomfort first hand.

He rested his head down on the pillow next to Hank’s, and he was only mere inches away from the sleeping man. He couldn’t control himself— the tears kept coming. He felt like a dribbling baby, but he hadn’t a clue how to reign in his emotions. When he cried, it was an entirely different beast. And so now, he let it all out. He felt shame. 

He was needy. He wanted Hank to be _his_ dad. He wanted to be a perfect son to him. He wanted to love Hank and show him the same unconditional compassion and sentiment he’d given him. But he was constrained by real life, pinned into a tiny fucking box he couldn’t break free from. 

Connor couldn’t _feel_ love, even if he was beginning to understand what love meant. Recognize that he did love Hank, but there was no emotion he could exactly pinpoint to it, and so it made him confused and feel lost. And he didn’t know why the hell Hank even tried. He still thought maybe someday he’d get bored with him, never aging, never changing. What was it Connor could offer him? Couldn’t do anything a real child could. He wouldn’t get married, wouldn’t graduate college, have kids of his own. He pretty much knew how the rest of his life would go— play cop, remain by Hank’s side for as long as he’d have him, and pretend to be okay with everything.

He pawed at his eyes and he was well aware he was making little whisper-like noises, but he couldn’t stop. Hank’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Connor drowsily. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Hank,” his voice cracked and Connor sounded so broken down, so desperate. 

“It’s okay,” he smacked his lips. “Hey, Con, why’re you crying?” he placed a hand against the side of his head, and maybe he was just sensitive, but his touch felt odd now, that his hair was shorter. Instead of a pressure that he normally felt when something heavy was on him, he could _feel_ his individual fingers resting there. And hear his pulse and feel how fucking badly he himself was quivering.

“I just,” he was back to sobbing. He hated this more than anything. He felt weak and ashamed and disgusting. “I-I’m sorry.” 

“Come here,” he said quietly, pulling Connor to cradle him. Hank felt like a heater. He rested his face in the crook of his neck. “You poor androids, so emotional.” 

Connor was panting, each breath he took elongated and sloppy. 

“Connor, maybe you should turn that off so you don’t hyperventilate or overheat, or something.” 

“O-okay,” he gasped. His mind had read the request before he could even attempt to process it, and his breathing simulation was cut. Now he could speak better, at least. “Sometimes— I wish I was real.”

“You are real, Connor.”

“ _No_ ,” Connor fussed. “I mean with a childhood. An upbringing where I was taught how to speak, where I learned how to read, not where I was _programmed_ with it.”

Hank ran circles along his back. “The thing is, not everyone comes from the same beginnings. Yeah, you were born into the body of an adult and now you’re like a kid, trying to figure out the world. But that’s just your reality. A lot of people had shitty childhoods, you’re kinda lucky to have skipped all that. But, I can’t imagine how hard this is for you, kiddo. And I’m sorry.”

He clung onto Hank’s shirt, his nails digging into the fabric. “I just want to be… normal. Like everyone else.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t want to be like everyone else. You want to be you, because you’re Connor. And no one else is Connor.” 

“I don’t—it’s so hard. I fucking hate this. I can’t— I can’t do this anymore, Hank, these feelings.”

“You have to ride the wave. I think once you get more used to them, they won’t be as manic.” 

“But for how long? I can’t deal with them anymore, they’re driving me _insane_.” 

“Would you rather go back to feeling nothing and being lifeless? You were stuck before. I know you don’t believe me, but you were miserable.” 

“I’d take anything over this.”

“No you wouldn’t. Emotions suck, kid. Everyone knows that. That’s why I drink so goddamn much. It’s better you have them than if you didn’t, _trust_ me. Stop focusing on the shit you don’t have and focus on what you do, okay. You have a place you can call home, a dog that adores you, got a job you enjoy and people that like you there. And you’ve got me,” there was a pause, then, “I love you, Connor."

Connor tucked himself further against him, his teeth chattering. His eyes were squeezed shut as tightly as he could, to keep the tears from spilling over again. “I lo— I lov—” he wanted to say it. He wanted it so fucking badly.

Hank whispered, “you don’t have to force yourself.”

He tried it in a different way. “I do too, Hank. I know I do. And I’ve given it time,” and he whimpered, “but I can’t be your family because I still can’t fucking feel anything. I can’t— _feel_ that.”

“Then, how do you know? If you can’t feel it.”

“Whenever I think of you, I just… you’re my home.”

“Sounds a lot like you _are_ feeling it to me. Emotions aren’t always gonna have a grand announcement with fireworks and big golden banners. Sometimes they’re subtle and quiet. Sometimes you miss them completely. Life’s hard, kid. Anyone that tells you otherwise is full of shit.” 

His fists balled. “I’m really scared, Hank.” 

* * *

It’s hard to enjoy yourself when you’re looking through a pair of blue tinted goggles. Eyes that only see sad. Where your view is cynical and everything seems bleak at the end of the day. He couldn’t fall asleep after that. Hank offered him more comfort, but he was uneasy until the sun came up.

At first, the prospect of relating to humans on a metaphysical level was riveting. He was so happy to have a bond with Hank that didn’t revolve around a purely work centered basis. But then, he started understanding why people turned to unhealthy coping mechanisms as he thought more often about how good the release of his own thirium felt. What distraction scratching against his own skin served when his mind was plagued with torment and fears about the future and unnecessary bothers. Because _everything_ bothered him now.

Everything now was just so, for a lack of better words because this one bland word summed up everything: uncomfortable. He was burdened with worrying about how others perceived him, and he didn’t know why he cared so much. Hank had splurged and bought them tickets to an event he thought he’d enjoy, spent his hard earned cash on new clothes for him, just wanted to take him out to have a good time. And Connor was having a staring contest with himself in a dirty gas station bathroom instead.

It was already the evening. He hadn’t been present most of the day, doing things without remembering them. Hank asked if he’d gone over such and such file, and he’d _say_ yes, because he did. But he’d have to scroll through a thousand things to make sure his guess was accurate. 

His uniform was piled on the floor and he stood in a pair of new dark jeans. He cuffed them. The shirt he wore was still a little too loose, but it didn’t matter because he was hiding under one of Hank’s jackets anyways. At least he thought his shoes were cool, a pair of red Converse. Flashy, but he preferred if he were to wear anything bold, it would be on his feet so the attention wouldn’t be immediately on his face. 

This was all his own doing. He could’ve easily changed before they left work, gone into a bathroom that smelled like soap and he _knew_ got scrubbed down every morning. But, as he’d explained to Hank, he was too embarrassed to have anyone see him. Maybe it was societal— the attachment of regular clothes to deviancy. He didn’t need Gavin’s childish teasing right now, not when he was already bullying himself enough.

The entire day he’d heard him blow up in, although more contained, fits of rage, periodically storming out of his office and leaving Nines to sit alone. He’d catch glimpse of him blankly staring at something, waiting for Gavin to return, like a patient animal. Like a… loyal poodle. He’d thought about talking to Nines, but, he didn’t.

"Connor, c'mon. You ready? I’m sure you look fine."

“I still feel stupid.” 

There were ways he could hurt himself and hide the evidence, if he wanted to be calculated about this. And, he _always_ wanted to be cool and calculated. He could be sneaky if he wanted to. And shit, he didn’t plan for his thoughts to be gathering in such a depressing pool, but that was one thing he knew would help him when he got jittery. His fucking leg was bouncing and he felt like he couldn’t stop moving.

He’d made a promise, something he _swore_ to Hank, the one person he truly cared about. But how much would a promise hold up when he was polluted by his own cravings? Hank didn’t drink last night, like he told Connor he wouldn’t. He owed it to him. If Hank could put aside his negativity, so could Connor. For now, at least. 

It was just a thought, and maybe it was stupid, he didn’t know. But could there be a happy medium? Where he could find a joy in the sadness he couldn’t escape? He didn’t have to shove away what he was feeling— he was feeling this way for a reason and there was no need to be ashamed, right? 

He wanted to enjoy the night, and he still could. But he didn’t need to fake a smile. Hank wouldn’t want to see it anyways.

“Okay, whether you look dumb or not, we gotta go. Or else we ain’t gonna make it on time. Think the first bands already started anyways. Like... fifteen minutes ago.” 

He still hadn’t turned his breathing back on, so he couldn’t sigh. But, he wanted to. He was met with Hank’s approval when he stepped outside.

“Very stylish.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m _sure_. You’ll blend right in,” he slung his arm around Connor’s shoulders. He pulled him back to the parking lot that was adjacent to the vaguely sketchy gas station. “It’s down the street a little, but not too far of a walk.” Hank popped open the trunk. “Can’t bring your bag with you though.” 

He set his bag in the trunk, Hank moving a few things around to cover it, and locked his car with a beep. But first, he snatched a beanie, situating it on Connor’s head.

“Right. Hat.”

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

“I know.”

More of the barricades were disappearing, but downtown was still pretty much untouchable unless you had permission of sorts. Though, the local nightlife wasn’t dead, far from it really. People were out at bars and clubs, loudly talking and laughing. They passed by a row of what looked like college students, leaning against a brick wall, smoking. 

Connor could already hear a heavy beat and sound of deep bass from outside the building. The place didn’t seem very large, and there was a bowling alley next door. The line was moving inside, but there was still a short que gathered at the front entrance. So Hank pulled them to stand at the end of it.

“Hey, I never asked you this,” Hank said under his breath, “but I’ve been wondering. Do you have a, uh, birthday? Of sorts.”

“I have a build day.”

“A build day, huh. Yeah? When is it?”

“It’s…” he stared at him, blank. That was odd. He’d known it at one point. “I can’t remember.” 

“Eh, that’s fine. We’ll celebrate it soon, okay?”

Connor cocked his head. “But, I don’t eat.”

“Hm?”

“The cake. Isn’t that what birthdays are? You eat cake.”

Hank laughed. “They’re a lot more than just cake, Con.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you do something you like for the day, because it’s a celebration, about _you_. Something fun, hang out with the people you like. You usually get gifts too, non-edible ones.”

The line was moving quick. “I don’t want any more gifts.”

“Alright. No gifts. But, we can still do something together. Might have an idea in mind.”

Connor looked at him curiously, but Hank smirked. “Not gonna tell you. That’d ruin the surprise.”

“But—”

“Nope. Just gotta wait it out.”

A woman walked by, yelling: “Please have your tickets and IDs out and ready.” 

Connor looked at Hank. “I don’t— Cyberlife never gave me an ID.”

“D’ah, shit. I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

“What do we do?”

Hank peered up at the front. “Don’t think we could sneak in through the back. Eh, we’ll think of something. Can flash them our badges if we have to. That always does the trick.”

Connor stared at him. 

“Don’t ask,” Hank said to his nonverbal question. 

Now at the front, Hank fumbled for his ID, freeing it from his worn leather wallet. He handed it over with his ticket to the bouncer, who shined against it with a flashlight. 

Connor tried to stay pressed against his side. His logic here was, if he could hide behind Hank, he’d disappear completely from sight. But, that clearly didn’t work as he stopped them when Connor tried to shuffle inside using Hank as his own personal shield.

“Hey, you too, buddy. Need to see your ID.”

“I don’t—” what would be a feasible excuse. He couldn’t admit to not having one. Maybe he’d lost it, or his dog ate it... “I don’t have mine with me. I must’ve forgotten it at home.”

The much taller, burly man wasn’t impressed. “No ID, no entry. Next?”

“Hey, man, c’mon,” Hank spoke up, handing him Connor’s ticket. “He’s just a kid. He’s not gonna be drinking or anything, he wants to hear the music. I’ll keep an eye on ‘im.” 

“Okay. And no one is allowed in without an ID, doesn’t matter if you’re his parent. It’s policy.”

Hank had a story of his own planned out. “I’ll be honest. Today’s his eighteenth birthday. Haven’t gotten around to getting him a new ID yet, but we will soon. You don’t wanna ruin his special day, do you?” 

“That doesn’t change the situation.”

Connor watched as Hank reached into his pocket, looking over his shoulder. He slid him a twenty dollar bill. “What about now? Make an exception, this one time, hm. I won’t tell anyone,” and then he showed him a glimpse of his badge.

The man sighed, shoving the bill in his pocket, lowering his arm. “Come on in. Happy birthday.” 

There were groups lingering in the lobby, plastic cups of beer in hand. There was a table set up, full of shirts and other paraphernalia. 

“I don’t think that was entirely legal,” Connor whispered.

“At least we’re in now. And, this _isn’t_ your birthday surprise, by the way. Just said that so he’d feel bad for ya.” 

“You don’t… really think I look that young, do you?”

Hank grinned. “No, no. Of course not.” But he chuckled.

“I know my appearance is youthful, but I don’t look like a _teenager,_ Hank.” 

“Hm. Hey, look on the bright side. At least you’ll look young forever while I only get older.”

“Thank God.”

Hank kept a steady pace as he didn’t stop moving, Connor following. As they transversed rooms, the shift in lighting made his eyes blur over. The main ballroom was very dim, and musty. The stage was highlighted with a mysterious purple, a thick fog hovering high in the air. People were scattered across the open space, swaying to the music, singing along, cheering. And he’d noticed a large open bar in the back, littered with even more people. 

“Where do you wanna go?” Hank leaned into his personal space, but it was so loud, he wouldn’t of been able to hear him if he wasn’t shouting right in his ear. 

“Maybe near, uh,” Connor looked back at the bar. No, too crowded. Then he noticed a seated area with a couple of tables and chairs. “Over there.” 

“Okay. Here, go get us a seat and I’ll be right there.”

“Where are you going?” 

Connor knew where Hank was looking, and he felt a tension inside his chest. So much for that short lived promise. Started to make his own promise feel lackluster now. 

“These things are more fun when you’re buzzed. I’m not gonna drink that much, not like I owe you an explanation anyways.”

Connor stared at the table. “I’ll be over there,” he said. Didn’t want to say anymore, because yeah, Hank was a big boy. He could make his own decisions, even if Connor hated those decisions. He didn’t drink last night. That was a start. But he couldn’t help his own temptations coming back now.

He sat down and his leg was back to shaking on its own. He leaned against his palm. It seemed like the stream piling in didn’t stop. The place was quite packed, the dance floor even more so, like a damn can of sardines.

There was a start to a guitar solo, the guitarist, who he really couldn’t see, shredding to his heart’s content. He felt more relaxed than he did earlier, that was for sure, but with everything being new, he was still on edge. Still feeling like, in the back of his mind, sitting on Hank’s couch and watching shitty movies would’ve been more fun. 

He finally saw Hank coming back towards him, beer in his hand. He could see him moving his lips, and tell he was trying to talk to him. But he couldn’t hear him anymore.

“Wait, hold on,” Connor was able to turn down the background noise a little and just focus on Hank. “I can hear you better now. I suppressed the background noise.”

He looked at him, impressed as always. “You can do that, huh?”

“What can’t I do?”

“Don’t get cocky now,” he grabbed his sleeve, pulling him to his feet. “You don’t want to try getting at least a little closer?”

“I don’t know…”

“I don’t mean pressed against the stage. But, you’re not gonna be able to see anything from back here soon.” 

“That’s fine. I came to hear the music, for my birthday.”

Hank scowled at him, taking a sip of his drink. “Fuckin’ smartass.”

They’d made their way through the thickening crowd and ended up somewhere near the middle; exactly where Connor _didn’t_ want to be, but Hank was insistent he’d enjoy it more this way. He was stuck between a sweaty wall of bystanders, honed in on the thick, heavy drumming. 

He couldn't believe he was admitting this— but, he actually liked the feeling of this crowd. Because in this place, he could be anyone he wanted, perhaps no one at all. That same feeling of detachment he could only experience mentally. The people around him flowed like rivers, each person moving as if unseeing hands dragged them this and that way. 

Everyone was here for one sole purpose; bonding over a similar taste in music. To have a good time, right? And it was freeing to see the expression of the guys on stage. He could clearly see them now.

The main singers hair was unruly, a blond mess and well past his chest. He wore a leather jacket filled with patches and safety pins, open to expose his chest, covered in ink. It made Connor wonder if Hank had any tattoos. These were the guys wearing ripped jeans, and honestly, he thought it suited them a _lot_ better.

He liked the kind of music Hank showed him because it was original. Wasn't some shitty vague love song with lyrics that came across as borderline stalkerish. These lyrics were fueled by pain, and anger. With the system, with mothers and fathers that let them down. Showcasing how some people are able to make their own choices in life, do what they've set out to accomplish. True free will was possibly the most dangerous thing a person could achieve. 

Connor didn't want to be another face, another plastic throwaway of Cyberlife. But he also didn't crave the spotlight, not tonight. The anonymity felt... empowering? 

The music was more screaming than actual words. And that's how he felt inside. Wanting to fucking yell because he was upset. Pissed off at the world. Hurt. And he wasn't alone, and that felt good, and so he smiled.

Hank looked at Connor with a knowing expression, light catching on his raised bottle. “Cheers to your first ever concert.” 

Connor was so worried with how he was dressed, but he didn’t have to worry about standing out here. He could make out colorful dyed hair, everyone’s sense of fashion so unique and different from one another. He was dull in comparison. 

They found themselves back where they originally started, by that small table as the crowd split into a circle, moshing. 

“Is this what you were talking about?”

“This is what I was talking about. You wanna join them?” Hank joked, giving Connor a light shove on the shoulder.

“No, no,” Connor said with a tremor, waving his hands. “I’m good here.” 

He chuckled. “Are you having fun at least?”

“I am. I just feel… like I’m a tad out of place.” 

“‘cause you’re standing there stiff as a board.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Dance, maybe? Not like them,” he gestured to the moshers, “but you can sway with the music, like everyone else. Feel what it’s making you feel.” 

“I don’t dance.” 

“Meaning you don’t know _how_ , or you just refuse to?”

“...I don’t know how.” 

“You just kinda,” Hank popped his hip, moving from side to side. “Move. Gotta relax your body and go with it.” 

Connor copied him, moving in quick, cautious bouts. Hank shook his head. “Little less contrived. You’re thinking too much. What’s the music making you feel? And don’t tell me nothin’, because I know it’s making you feel _something_.”

“There’s... a lot of energy. And uh, rage. Their music is angry.”

“Does it make _you_ feel angry?”

“Makes me feel like— you know what, yes. It does. I’ve been sad all day, and I’m tired of feeling sad. So now I’m just angry. I’m angry for letting anyone push me around, for listening to anyone that’s told me I’m worth less than them. For thinking I don’t have a place here, that my worth of life is any less than anyone else’s.”

“Alright. Use that,” he took a sip of his drink. “Go with it.” Hank led them back onto the dance floor, meshing with the others. The circle had died down. Connor relaxed his shoulders. He tried to sway, glancing at whoever stood next to him, copying their rhythm. He eventually developed his own pace and threw his head back, eyes closed, rolling his neck. He tuned into the music, listening intently, head bopping to the beat.

“There you go. Better,” he squeezed Connor’s shoulder. “Hey. I’m gonna go get another drink.” Connor flinched at that. He thought Hank wasn’t going to drink much. “You okay here for a few minutes, or do you wanna come with me?” 

“I… I think I’m okay,” he peered at him. The flashing lights were captivating, and he was entranced, content intermingling with the other warm bodies around him.

“Okay. I’ll be right back. If you need me, come get me.” 

The guitarist ran across the stage, jumping on top of an amp. Everyone began to cheer even louder, hands thrown up above their heads. He didn’t join them, but he could appreciate the excitement. 

Being here, there was no such thing as personal space, he quickly learned. His body was being tossed around like fish at a market, and before he knew it, he was pretty much slammed against the front barricade, face to face with the band themselves. This was their last song and they were preparing to hand over the stage to the main act of the night; Bison God. 

They exited with one final bellow, the crowd showing their love, and soon their banner was pulled down. A large flag was set up with the main act’s name, instruments hauled off and on. A few decorations were placed here and there, like a gaudy cross. 

Connor peered over his shoulder, still not catching sight of Hank. Maybe he couldn’t find Connor because he was too absorbed into the sea of people. As he was about to call Hank, the lights were killed, and the stage lit brightly, so that when the, Connor assumed, vocalist stepped out, all you could see was his shadow and bright white behind him. 

He held the microphone close to his mouth, growling deep from the pit of his stomach, almost demonic sounding. Connor curled his fingers around the metal bar of the barricade. 

The man standing next to him locked eyes with Connor when he turned to look behind himself again; the first thing he noticed about him, despite the lack of light, was the heavy liner around his eyes. Dark and smudged. And then he saw a faint glow, peeking out from under his hood, a calm blue. Connor reached to adjust his own hat quickly.

Then, it was like everything muted as he heard an intrusive voice enter his headspace, a lot deeper than his own.

_I’ve never seen another android here before. They usually hate us around here._

Connor glanced at the man again, but now he was smiling warmly.

 _This is my first time coming,_ Connor replied.

_Well, welcome._

_Thank you. Hey, can I ask you something, if it's not too personal?_

_Sure._

_Your LED… why haven’t you removed yours?_

_My owners don’t know I come here. I sneak out at night._

_Your owners?_

_Yep. Act like a doll during the day, have a life of my own at night. What about you? Why do you still have yours?_

_I just don’t want to be ashamed of it._

_Nothing wrong with that._

Outside noise refocused when the lights flickered on more, and there was a spotlight on the singer. He smoothed back his hair, breathily chuckling. “Detroit, you’re killin’ me. I’m lovin’ the energy here. But I wanna see you lose your fuckin’ minds for this next one. Y’all know anything about stage diving?” 

Security was hauling people from the crowd onto the stage. The guy next to him only smiled wider, giving him a pat on the back before shouting at them to grab Connor. Before he knew it, he was roughly being thrown next to the band.

He wasn’t sure what the hell was happening, or what to do for that matter. He watched as someone else leapt into the crowd, landing on top of hands, and he was carried off into the distance. He must’ve given off that helpless deer caught in headlights look, because the guitarist looked at him reassuringly, nodding. What the hell had he gotten himself into.

 _Jump_ , he heard his newfound companion say. He wanted to ask more, maybe _why_ he told them to pull him up there. Try to get his name, but his thinking was cut short. 

The singer came over, belting out lyrics as he nonchalantly gave Connor a push, and flying into the audience he went. 

He gripped a hand onto his hat. He actually liked this feeling, of floating. Being held up by a shared effort, where everyone worked together to make sure he was safe. He felt cared about, because there, people who’d never met each other before collaborated to carry him through the audience, just for his own enjoyment, offering more compassion to him than most people did in his day to day life.

He traveled towards the back until he felt hands roughly scoop under his arms and he was pulled onto his feet, hat knocked off. Hank bent down, handing it back to him, wearing a _very_ amused grin. Connor quickly shoved the beanie back on.

“I was starting to get worried. I didn’t know where you went, but then I turn around and you’re fucking stage diving.” Hank playfully punched his arm. “Didn’t know you had it in you, kid.”

“Yes, well,” he was flustered, “it wasn’t exactly my _choice._ ” 

“Whatever you say. I’m not judging,” he swished his bottle around.

A screen popped up, making him blink, his head trying to back away from the intrusion. 

“Shit, Markus is calling me.”

“Markus?”

“Yeah. Uh, can we go to the lobby or something?”

“Sure.” He grabbed hold of Connor’s wrist, pulling him with until they found a much less populated area, closer to the doors. It was still loud out here, but not as deafening. 

He answered the call. _Hello?_ Then he looked at Hank again, speaking quietly. “Do you want me to put him on speaker, so you can hear too?”

_Good evening, Connor. I apologize for calling so late, but I’m afraid I don’t have anyone else I can call about this._

“Are you already talking to him?”

He nodded. _Wait, hold on a second._

_Okay. I’m sorry to bother you. Are you in the middle of something?_

_Kind of, but it’s not important._

“Can we go outside?”

“Yeah.” Hank pushed open the door and they walked down to the end of the building, away from the cluster of smokers. 

_What’re you up to?_

Connor upturned his palm, a small picture of Markus’ face showing with the options for ‘hang up’ and ‘speaker’. He clicked the bottom one.

“We’re at a concert. Hank can hear you now too.”

“A concert? What kind? I’ve been to a few with Carl.”

“Uh, heavy metal.”

“Ah. Yes, we usually attend… classical ones.”

Hank snorted, handing Connor his phone. They were getting a few stares, so Connor understood the gesture. He held it, mimicking a normal phone call. “Hi, Markus.”

“Good evening, Hank. As I said, I’m sorry for interrupting, but we— we’re dealing with a situation here.”

“Wait, who’s we?”

“North and I.”

“Are you both okay?”

“Yes. We are, for the most part. But, this isn’t about us.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure if I can explain the situation very well without you actually seeing it firsthand, but I will try my best. Earlier this afternoon, Carl had leant me his car so a few of us could comb around for androids that weren’t aware of the current temporary housing. After a while, the others headed back, but North and I decided to do one more sweep. We had noticed a child, completely on their own, covered in blood. At first, we thought he was human, but he turned out to be a custom made model.”

“Was it his blood?”

“No. It’s red.” 

Hank mumbled something under his breath, Connor sharing the sentiment. Imagining a child, coated in blood, made him feel sick. “And, is this child still with you?”

“Yes. He’s erratic. He’s hardly told us anything, other than he’s been on the run.”

“Where are his owners... or parents?”

“Well, that’s the only other piece of information we’ve managed to understand. He killed both of his parents. The blood was from them.” Connor attempted to lower the volume of Markus’ voice. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Hank muttered.

“Where are _you_ right now?” 

“I can send you our location. Where is that concert you’re at?”

“Downtown, near the college. At the,” he looked behind himself at the brick building, “Majestic.” 

“Did you get what I sent you?”

“Yeah. Hang on.” He couldn’t mentally map it out, so instead he used Hank’s phone, typing the address into Google maps. “We’re only a few minutes away from you. Are you going to be okay until we get there?” 

“Yes. Though, the sooner the better. We’re not scared he’s going to hurt _us_ , but maybe himself.”

“Okay. We’re going to head out now. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, both of you. See you soon.” 

“Bye,” Connor hung up, Hank hanging his head.

“Con, I ‘dunno if I should be behind the wheel right now. Don’t like to ever risk it. I’d say I’d be fine if I had only one, but...”

“I can drive.”

“Are you _sure_? Like, you’ve actually driven before?”

“Yes. I’m an excellent driver, Hank. I passed my driving tests with flying colors."

“...how many cars have you driven?”

“Well…” his brows lowered. “Two, exactly. I've driven you once before. You don't remember?"

"No. I don't. Guess I must've mentally blocked the trauma out," he swallowed down the rest of his drink, face scrunching.

"Now you're exaggerating. It _wasn't_ that bad."

Hank chuckled. “Nah, I trust you, kid. But, I swear. One dent and I’m suing you.”

“You can send the bill to Cyberlife. Only for them to ignore you.”

Hank scoffed. “Oh, you know. The fuckers never paid for the window, either.”

“They didn’t?”

“No. That came out of my pocket.”

“...I’m sorry.” 

Hank laughed. “Nah. What choice did you have. S’not your fault.” 

* * *

Connor saw the both of them; Markus was lingering near an empty parking lot while North was on her knees, a small child tucked under her chin. He couldn’t make out much of his face, long shadows cast over him. He slowly pulled up next to Markus, parking. See, he could drive fine, probably better than Hank even. Though he wasn’t going to brag about that.

“Thank you for coming so fast. I’m sorry to interrupt your night out. It’s nice to see you again, Hank.”

Hank waved at him. Connor shook his head. “It’s fine. This is what we do.” He got out of the car, Hank rounding over to his side. 

“He still hasn’t told us much.”

“Do you know his name?”

“No, unfortunately.” 

They approached the pair, the boy cowering against North as they drew closer. Now Connor could see him; worried blue eyes, his skin stained with red, his clothes dirtied and pants ripped.

Hank shoved his hands into his pockets. “When did you find him?”

“An hour ago?” Markus said, North nodding. “If that.”

“Can I try talking to him?” He looked at Hank, like he was waiting for his approval. Hank sort of shrugged. 

“He’s very anxious,” North spoke. 

Connor knelt in front of her. He wasn’t familiar with kids, but he tried to act like how he would with Sumo. Calm demeanor. Body language was important. “Hey buddy. We’re only here to help you. We don’t want to hurt you.”

The child was shivering, not responding. He peered at North. “You haven’t been able to read his memories at all?”

North shook her head. “He wouldn’t let either of us try.” 

The child was watching Connor timidly. Connor gestured to Hank. “Can I borrow your phone? I have an idea.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure,” he handed it to him, unlocking it first. He scrolled through his photo gallery until he found one of Sumo. He held the phone up, facing him.

“Do you like animals?” He waited for a response that never came. So, he continued. “This is my puppy. Well, he’s not really a _puppy_ , per say. But, he’s a very sweet dog. Sometimes when I’m scared, he helps me feel better. You can look at him too, if you want. I’m sure he’ll help you feel better.” The little boy extended his arm, so Connor handed him the phone. “My name’s Connor. Do you want to tell me yours?” 

He still didn’t speak. So Connor turned to Hank again. “Do you still have some of those wet towels in the car?” 

“Yeah, I think so. Lemme check.” He handed him a packet of them a minute later. Connor ripped one open with his teeth, pulling a wipe out. He carefully leaned in closer to the kid, wiping against his nose. He flinched at the touch.

“I’m going to clean you off a little. Is that okay?”

He nodded. So Connor continued, removing as much blood as he could. He set the dirty wipe aside, pulling out another. And then the child spoke, very softly. His voice full of static. “Dylan.”

Connor smiled. “That’s a nice name,” he set the package aside, nearly empty now. His clothes were still covered in blood, but at least his face was clean of it now. “That’s my dad. His name is Hank,” Connor pointed to him. “Could you show me what happened to your parents?” 

The boy grew more recluse, huddling against North. She wrapped her arms around him. “I don’t know if he’s ready to, Connor. The blood still seemed fresh.”

“I understand that. But if this only happened today, someone’s probably already looking for him. And if they find him, they’re not going to be talking so nicely. They don’t care if it’s a child, they treat them the same way as any other deviant.” The boy turned around, his back facing Connor now. Shit. He shouldn’t of been so blunt in front of him. He tried to think, North handing him the phone back, slipping it into his own pocket. How could he convince him? See, this was the hard part of his job. He didn’t like pressuring anyone, because he didn’t enjoy being mean. But you couldn’t yell at a kid, didn’t matter what color they bled. You’d traumatize them. He clicked his tongue.

“Hey, Dylan. How about we make a deal? I’ll show you one of my memories, a cool one. And if you like it, do you think you could show me yours?”

He looked over his shoulder. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“Yeah? Do we have a deal?” 

He nodded.

“You’re going to have to turn around for me then.” Dylan obliged. “Wanna shake on it?” He shook his smaller hand. “Great,” Connor pulled up his sleeve, his arm extended. He waited for him and then eventually, his hand laid flat against Connor’s forearm. “This won’t hurt, okay? I promise you. It’s just gonna be fun.” 

His eyes closed, and they weren't on the same Earth anymore. Stuck inside an adventure, crafted just for Dylan, in Connor's perfect world. He tried to put himself in Hank's shoes, imagining him as his own son. Only the two of them. Yet, Connor was still a child, for some reason.

They're standing on the edge of a red cliff, overlooking the Grand Canyon, exactly how Hank described it to him— a raw beauty. Dylan stood beside him, an ice cream cone in his hand, and everything was peaceful.

Nature was an incredible thing, noble walls similar to the likes of a castle, but crafted independent of human touch. The dusty rock was lined at the sides by a lush green. The river below them like a thin ribbon, curling and traveling without hesitation, unaware of their loitering. The sky was still, and time had seemed to stop. Right now, the only important things were them.

He could’ve imagined something more exciting for him, like a rollercoaster. He remembered Hank saying how Cole didn’t value the serenity in the same way he did; but this kid didn’t need anymore excitement for the night. Boring and simple seemed better.

His eyes flickered open, and Dylan’s face was more relaxed.

“So, what’s the verdict? Was that okay?”

He nodded again.

“Do you think you can trust me enough to show me yours now?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Okay buddy. I’m gonna do the same thing to you now,” he slid up his sleeve, exposing his tiny arm to the cold night. “You won’t feel a thing, and it’ll only take a few seconds. I want to get to know you better.” 

This time, he was watching the memories play back on a nine mm film, observing like a hawk in its nest instead of experiencing them from the starring role. He had nothing to do with this story, his only part was a bystander that could do null. Useless, and he’d felt helpless. 

The scene set and he’d flipped open the first page of the novel. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Smith (as Connor had named them, because it seemed the child was unsure of his last name), had a troubled history. His mother had attempted to become pregnant many times, but was plagued with illnesses and miscarriages time and time again. They’d had an older child, who would’ve been about nineteen in current years, which was a miracle. And they’d tried _again—_ much to their odds, they had a healthy baby boy. She was told she wouldn’t be able to have any more, but she was content. 

And then, one day, tragedy struck, and their boy was pulled away from them. He was seven. They’d gone on a family trip to the sand dunes, throwing in a bit of hiking and wading in the river. Their youngest boy was sneaky and rebellious, as most boys are at that age. In the middle of the night while his parents still slept, he’d snuck out of their trailer and slid into a pair of his swimming trunks. He wasn’t done with swimming for the day, and he wanted more. With the moon out, not too many other people lurked. 

His parents woke and he wasn’t in his cot. David was missing. They’d thought nothing of it at first, but then minutes turned to hours, and then they were surrounded by search and rescue. His body was retrieved, lifeless. Skin blue and bruised, lips swollen. He’d drowned. 

His parents were so distraught by the situation, they did what any parent might’ve dreamt of— they’d brought their child back to life, in a sense. There was a service Cyberlife offered, where you could customize a child so lifelike, the only difference was their internal wiring. They didn’t want to replicate their son (that was an option), but create someone that looked similar enough to David that he could be his blood brother. 

The child was thoughtfully crafted, with curly hair and buck teeth. Part of the program was a seamless integration; instead of being introduced as the families newest electronic addition, old family portraits were redesigned where David was cropped out and Dylan took his place. Like he’d been there all along.

His mind was stuffed full of false memories. The story that they moved from Iowa when he was only a few years old, leaving his best friends behind, starting a new life in Detroit because of his father’s work. That he’d attended third grade like everyone else and had a teacher who he’d never himself seen. Any trace of David in that house was gone.

The one flaw they’d never considered though, was aging. Something Cyberlife still hadn’t tackled, not that they wanted to. It defeated the purpose of having an android; something that would look young forever, that was part of the appeal. As his older sister grew and entered high school, started dating boys and wearing makeup, he was curious why he’d always remained the same. Stuck in third grade, that he’d never remembered attending, looking like a child. 

They were out one day at a grocery store and Dylan wandered off from his mother. There was a magazine rack. Sometimes he liked to buy comics or do the simple word puzzles. But among _Sports Illustrated_ and _National Geographic_ , there was a section just for androids and technology. On the front cover of an inventors magazine was a spread for Cyberlife’s new line of android children. He flicked through the book, scrolling as fast as he could until he reached the segment; he’d read all about it. Created from scratch, however you’d want them to look, even filled with memories so the child felt real. Daily updates were implemented so it _felt_ like the child was learning, without them ever having to leave the house. They could be ordered to look as young as two months.

Connor could _feel_ his existential dread. He dropped the magazine and the cheap glass screen shattered. There was so much pain and agony built up inside him. He wasn’t real. He’d been living for nine years in a delusion, that some day he’d grow up and be like his sister. Have his own group of friends, move into a cheap apartment and get his first part time job. But, those were all lies. He’d remain a child until the end of time.

He refused to talk to them on the way home. He plucked one of the photos they’d had in the living room and he stared at it. His mother entered the room and he whipped around, confronting her about everything. He screamed, she cried, and then confessed. The truth came pouring out and he became animalistic. Overcome with a pure rage of _hatred_. 

He ran into the kitchen and grabbed the first knife he could find. And he stabbed. Stabbed away at his mother until she laid still on the floor and the linoleum tiles were stained. 

He’d killed all three of them like it was second nature and then fled. On the move with no idea where to go.

From Connor’s understanding, the way these android kids were made was a different process than a caretaker or service worker. They’d already been crafted with emotions preset, for a more realistic experience. So they could feel love when their parents tucked them in at night. Was this emotion simulated, or real? Connor didn’t know if there was a difference. 

Connor let go of him, his mouth open wide. All he wished he could do was trade places with the boy. Dylan huddled into North and she kissed the side of his head. “It’s okay, Dylan. You’re okay.”

“Thank you. You’re a very brave boy,” Connor said, weak. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that. I know it’s not easy,” he rubbed his thumb across his arm before Dylan pulled it away. Connor stood up and the three of them moved away from the pair.

“You’re very good with children,” Markus commented. Connor shrugged. 

“I guess I just spoke to him how I’d want to be spoken to.”

“So, what did he show you?” Hank asked.

He pulled at the cuff of his jacket. He tried to piece together a synopsis. “His uh, parents bought him because their youngest passed away and they couldn’t cope with the grief. And they were so keen on integrating him into the family that they went to any length imaginable to act like he wasn’t an android. He was specially designed with memories ingrained into his mind of school and childhood friends he moved away from. They had framed photos with him photoshopped in. Once he found out the truth, he got his revenge.” 

“I,” Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I need a minute.”

“Hank,” Connor reached for him but he waved him off. “I’m fine, Con.” 

Markus watched him then turned back at Connor. “He’s the one that lost his son in a car accident, right?”

“Yeah.” Hank had gotten back inside his car, sitting with his head in his hands. “I think hearing that just… y’know.”

“Is he okay?”

“No. But he’s not going to admit he isn’t.”

Markus was watching Dylan. “I’m not sure what we should do with him. None of us are experienced with children, and it doesn’t seem like he’s particularly comfortable with us either.”

“It wouldn’t be wise to put him with the other androids, in the housing.”

“No. Of course not.”

“I was telling North this. If they find him, they’re just going to kill him. They don’t give a shit about android criminals, even if they’re kids. He’d be deactivated the second they get sight of him. And they know what he looks like. They have records and documents proving his purchase, and not to mention photographs of him _everywhere_ in their house.” 

“I know how ruthless they are first hand.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispered. He kicked his feet against the ground. “We can’t take him in either. Hank and I are never home.”

“I know. That would be asking too much of you.” Markus’ jaw was tight. “There is one person I know that had experience with children. He loved kids. The family he worked with was practically his own.” 

“Simon?” Connor asked, quieter than the wind. 

“Yes,” and then Markus dug around inside his pocket. “That’s the other reason why I called you here, Connor. I wanted to talk to you about this anyways, but then we found Dylan.” He opened his palm to Connor. There was a thumbdrive. “His body may have been destroyed, but this is Simon. Everything he was is backed up on here; his memories, his personality.”

“Where the hell did you get this?”

“Josh went back for him. We weren’t sure if he’d made it off that rooftop. And, that’s when he discovered he hadn’t. But, his body hadn’t been moved, thankfully for us. He was able to extract everything that he was onto this thumbdrive.” 

He felt so fucking guilty, if only he hadn’t gone up there. If he’d stayed put and not been so damn curious.

“We can bring him back. All we need for him is a new body. If you can help me get Simon back, I swear on my life, and Jericho, we will protect this child.” 

“How’re we supposed to do that? There are tanks surrounding Cyberlife’s warehouses, the landfills too. It’s impossible to get parts, even if they’re spare broken ones.”

“There’s a Cyberlife store open in Auburn Hills. It closes in two hours.” 

“And, what, you want us to break in there and steal him a new body?”

“We’re limited on options and time. I don’t know what else we could do.” 

“So you’re thinking if we get Simon back, because he worked with kids, he can calm this one?”

“It’s an idea.”

“How do you know how Simon’s going to react? He doesn’t know we won; what if he wakes up thinking he’s still a slave? The last thing he remembers is how a bullet tastes.”

Markus was blinking, shaking his head. “I don’t. I don’t know how he’s going to react, or if this kid is going to snap and try to kill all of us. I don’t know what tomorrows going to be like, or if I’ll still be alive in the next five minutes because the future guarantees us nothing. But, I’m asking you for your help because I’d like to at least try. As crazy as this sounds. If Hank died and you had the opportunity to bring him back to life, wouldn’t you?” 

Connor didn’t want to answer that hypothetical. “This is fitting, considering the case we’re dealing with right now.” He gestured towards Dylan. 

“He was my best friend,” his fingers closed around the small piece of plastic. “And I— I miss him.”

Connor sucked in his lips. “Okay. Fine. I’ll help you. Do you have a plan though, or are we going to barge in there?”

“I don’t not have a plan.”


	9. Morality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can’t let biases dictate your actions— Connor knew defending murder was wrong. He knew breaking into a store and stealing wasn’t that great either. He let Hank yell at him, listened to him rant about good moral standards. But he knew in his heart he couldn’t walk by another Cyberlife store and willingly pass the androids on display, knowing he was free to roam around and do whatever he wanted, and they couldn’t. He couldn’t send this kid off to be destroyed, despite the blood on his hands.
> 
> There’s good, and there’s bad. And sometimes, the definition of the two need to intermingle.

“ _Get in, and close the door_.”

Connor had never seen Hank this mad before; his face was beet red and he was vehemently swaying his hands around, looking like he was about to pop a blood vessel. He was screaming, and in that tight confined space of his car, his voice was _loud_. They’d been sitting there for at least five minutes now, and Connor knew Markus was periodically pacing closer to their direction to try and see what was taking them so long.

He was keeping himself busy by ringing his beanie with both hands, foot jittering. This wasn’t a situation he wanted to be in, and he knew it was slowly approaching— their first _actual_ fight. They’d yelled at each other before, obviously, gotten physical too. But since this new chapter they’d started writing, where they found peace together, everything had been topped off with a cherry and doused in whipped cream. It was too good to be true.

So he knew his entire world was going to come crashing down on him, because nothing stays all sunshine and rainbows forever. He really hated this, the tension that made him feel like a noose was tightening more and more around his throat. And how he was now stuck in his own damn thoughts and could hardly focus on what Hank was spitting at him.

He wanted to start scratching at himself, try to dig a hole and escape through it. He wished he had the ability to go back in time, not pick up Markus’ call. He wanted to be back at the concert, or at Hank’s house and go for a walk around the neighborhood with Sumo. Because of his fucking choices, now both of them were uncomfortable in the presence of one another and that alone felt like it was going to physically break Connor in half.

His eyes were bouncing around, observing spider web like scratches on the dashboard window that shone under streetlights. Picking out every crumpled receipt that was shoved under his feet, or the glaringly wrong time that the clock read back in neon green.

“ _Listen to me_.” That was an order. A command. He needed to pay attention to Hank, because that’s what he wanted. That’s what Connor wanted too, but it was hard to stay focused when he didn’t want to _hear_ what might’ve been coming next. If he ignored the present, maybe he could avoid the future too, right? Not think about how Hank was pissed at him for taking the side of protecting a criminal. That’s what he’d been trying to hound into him, over and over again.

And when Connor didn’t respond, his voice only grew a decibel higher, and he repeated the same sentiment: “You are talking about defending a _murderer_. Do you realize what you’re even doing?”

He let the beanie fall to his lap, and he felt a strange lump in his throat, almost like he swallowed something he shouldn’t have, like glass. His fingers kept moving even with nothing to touch, nothing to do. He couldn’t stay still. He felt so confined and caged, ah fuck, he felt like his head was going to pop off from the stress. 

“For God’s sake, speak to me, Connor!”

He met Hank’s eyes and it was dark enough he could see his reflection in his pupils. He looked terrified. Red ringing and pale and mouth opened dumbly, yet he didn’t know what to say. Or, where to start rather. 

“Hank,” he was so so quiet, and he tried again, but he didn’t want to be any louder, because he wanted this to all go away. This was only a bad dream, he tried to convince himself. “You think I don’t already know that? He’s not going to face a fair trial— the second they find him, they’ll _kill_ him.”

Hank was twisted around in his seat, arm resting on the middle console, trying to face him the best he could. He was regaining more of his natural complexion, but there was still a fury lurking. Maybe he didn’t know how loud he was being too; Hank was drunker than he realized. “But you think hiding a _wanted criminal_ is any better? Connor, we’re _cops_. We could lose our fucking _jobs_ if they find this out, that we’re protecting a fucking felon.”

“He’s a goddamn _child_ , Hank. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Do your _job_ and hold him _accountable_. I don’t care what or who he is, he _killed_ someone.”

“Because he was scared!” Now it was Connor’s turn to lose his temper. He yelled, which was unexpected for the both of them. Hank looked taken aback, but he could still see the progress being made in his face softening. Hank looked away for a moment, his chest huffing with a deep and heavy inhale. 

“That doesn’t give him a pass to go and murder his fucking family, Connor.”

But now Connor felt that magma like heat rising, the kind that gave him those dark thoughts he liked to lock up and hide and pretend he never had. The kind of anger that could be harvested as a weapon. “Yeah, I _know_ that, but he was lied to his entire life and treated like an object. Just like me,” Hank opened his mouth, but Connor raised his hand. “I’m not done speaking. I’m not saying what he did was inexcusable. But these android kids aren’t wired the same as me or Markus. When we deviate, it’s a different process of breaking into emotions, and when we feel, it’s the whole spectrum… for the most part. With these kids, they’re designed that way, to feel from the start. But selectively. So they only feel the good stuff. They’re made to never be sad, not talk back or be bratty. They’re like the dream child. He’s never felt anger before. He didn’t know how powerful it could be.”

“You’re making excuses for him.”

“I’m not making excuses.”

“Then why’re you treating him fucking differently— because he’s an android? If this was a human, I know you’d be turning him in.”

“I— it’s not because he’s an android, he’s a _child_!”

Hank rolled his eyes. “You say you want equality for androids, but this isn’t how you go about it. I know the consequences aren’t nice, but, you gotta face the actions of them. If you kill someone, you gotta be held accountable. That’s just how it is.”

“He didn’t _know_ what he was _doing_.” 

“Pretty damn sure he knew what he was doing, Connor.”

“He was reacting to abuse— it was an act of self defense—”

“He stabbed three people a combined hundred times. That’s what you said, right? Hundred? Cut up little pieces of their body parts too, just for fun? That’s not self defense.” What Connor’d seen, it was something ripped straight out of a Hollywood blockbuster. Their kitchen looked like someone put strawberries in a blender and left the lid off; it was a nightmarish mess. “That’s crazy, and that’s resentment, and _dangerous_. We don’t know what this boy could do. What if he snaps again, hm? What if he tries to hurt you, or me? He hates humans.”

“He’s not—”

“Do you know that? You know, Markus can make his own decisions if he wants to protect him. Whatever, that’s on him. Not gonna go out of my way to call Jeff over this. But we’re _not_ getting involved with this shit.”

Connor looked at his shoes. He counted every grommet, studied every new scuff and mark and stain from spilled drinks. “I didn’t tell you the rest of it yet. What Markus asked me.”

There was such an overbearing tone of shame in his voice, and it just killed Connor. His biggest fears in life: dying, and Hank being disappointed in him. “There’s _more_?”

“There’s a way we can bring Simon back. Markus has his memories backed up on a USB. All we need is a body.”

Hank looked out the window, hands running through his hair. “And where do you get a body, Connor?”

“From a…” he didn’t even want to say the words. Like someone was holding a knife to his back, he spoke secretly, “a Cyberlife store.”

“Oh my fucking God. Stealing too, huh? You’re just covering _all_ the crimes tonight. You didn’t agree to it, did you?”

“Well…”

“Jesus Christ. This _isn’t_ how you help people. Fuck, you’re so worried about some kid you don’t even know getting murdered when you could end up in the same exact situation.”

“I’m not—”

“If they catch you, you will. You think the sames not gonna apply to you? Think you’re special?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned, leaning back in his seat, hands slung over his eyes. “I don’t know why I agreed or what I was thinking. I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know.”

“You weren’t thinking, period.”

“Hank, cool down. I feel bad enough as it is.”

“Good. You need to feel worse.”

“Can I calm down for a second? I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

Hank’s lips formed a tight line, but he nodded anyways. “Yeah. You need something to drink?”

“Yes. Please.”

He heard him rustling around through the backseat, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw his metal thermos. He unscrewed the cap of it and drank as much thirium as he could handle, the liquids dripping down the sides of his mouth, pooling at the curve of his chin. Hank sighed, but it wasn’t derisive or mean, or annoyed even. He pulled a tissue out of his pocket and wiped the blue from his skin, crumpling up the tissue and putting it in a cup holder. 

“Feel any better now?”

“Sort of.”

“All I’m saying, Con, is everyone’s actions have consequences. You wanna lose your job?”

His fingers tightened around the thermos. His job was one of the only things he looked forward to, even if he wasn’t tackling the most ideal cases and some of his coworkers made him want to run in the middle of busy traffic. “Of course not.”

“You want me to lose my job?” He hadn’t thought of that. If anything happened where their plan went wrong, Connor could end up on the news— _android revolution leader and friends caught breaking into Cyberlife store._ He could see the headlines now. And if one of the breaker-inners was tied back to a specific lieutenant...

“No!” He felt a dent. His fingers uncurled and he saw a dip in the metal. Hank took the container from him. Connor rubbed his temples. 

“I’m not saying this to stress you out. I’m being serious. You know what would happen if I lost my job? We’d be homeless, Connor. Sumo likes our home.” Hank gestured. “Or, I don’t know. Maybe I’d be, you’d probably be— dead? In android holding? Hell only knows.”

“So, what, you want me to go back out there and tell him sorry, I take back everything I said. You’re on your own?”

“ _Yes_. I really think you should. You gotta pick a side at some point. I get it— there are some rules that need to be broken in order for change to happen, but defending a _killer_ ain’t one of them. Nor is stealing. Jericho offering refuge to androids and supporting them is great, but you need to acknowledge the dangerous side to them too.” 

But that was a hell of a choice to make, and Connor didn’t realize how difficult it would be until he came face to face with the decision— playing goodie two shoes and being Hank’s prodigie child where he was acting in a play, faking a _perfect_ smile for the world, living by a poorly written script. Or risking it all because this is what he felt was really right in his _heart_.

“Markus is my friend, though.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t let friendships get in the way of morality, kid. You hate murder, so why the fuck are you defending it?”

“Because he’s…” he pulled on his jeans. “I don’t know, Hank. Sometimes I just… feel like I still don’t know who I am. I don’t know what _Connor_ is supposed to be.”

Hank slowly reached out towards him and cupped his shoulder, soothingly rubbing his thumb against the denim of his jacket.

“Connor’s whatever you want him to be, kid. Really. But all I’m asking you is, please don’t make us into the bad cops. Okay, as shitty as I can be sometimes, I have my limits.”

Connor felt like he was constantly shifting, his views changing the more he thought, the more time he spent around Markus, the more he saw how shitty the majority of humans really did treat them. 

Humans had the privilege of being able to love and live in peace— at least from Connor’s perspective. Didn’t have to worry about being told their feelings weren’t real, that they weren’t real, scared shitless anytime they go outside because they don’t know who is, and isn’t, pro-android. No one fucking cared if they were beaten down, raped, set on fire, killed. If an android made one wrong move, that was it. A human could mess up a hundred times and no one would blink an eye. Maybe get a tap on the wrist, gold star if they spat on an android that day. 

Daniel ‘acting out’ because he was terrified of being abandoned. Carlos’ android had been burned hundreds and hundreds of times, for what reason? And when he finally hit the breaking point, as any person would after that much abuse, _he_ was in the wrong. Kara stole money so she could find a safe place for her and her daughter, yet Connor chased them and pushed them to the brink of running across speeding traffic.

Stealing was wrong, Connor knew that. And so was killing. But sometimes it came down to survival, and at the end of the day, you’re always going to have to be looking out for yourself. 

Connor rolled his neck, staring at the ceiling of Hank’s car. “Why’d you run off after I said what happened to Dylan? Were you thinking about Cole?”

“Pft,” Hank huffed. “I mean, yeah. I was, at first. ‘cause I can’t imagine how fucked up you’d have to be mentally to do that to someone. Erase your own goddamn kid from the picture and replace them with something else that never knew he even existed, doesn’t know his _own_ existence. But then I was more so astounded when I realized you're fucking defending this shit. Look, I get the kids frustration. And I see the _same_ kind of frustration in you, I do. But you know where the similarities end?”

Connor answered without missing a beat: “I didn’t kill Kamski.”

“Exactly. Connor, you scared me the other day, talking about breaking into his house and shit. That’s not like you. Morality is… here, we’re gonna _talk_ and have a life lesson because it’s important you learn this. Morality, it’s fake, in a sense. Because humans have made up rules, and we’ve just kinda followed them. You gotta go with your gut feeling, on what you really think is right, and wrong. But there’re some things you can’t fucking argue with, and that’s the logic behind murder. Murder is never okay, I don’t care how angry you get. You can’t fight violence and hate with more violenc—” 

He spoke loudly, to cut off Hank. “I killed guys. At Cyberlife.” 

Hank stared at him, unblinking. “...you did?” 

“In the elevator.”

“You never told me that.”

“I didn’t have a choice. _They_ were taking _me_ to get deactivated. It was either them, or me. You would’ve been dead too if I hadn’t, stupid other _‘Connor’_ would’ve killed you.” He found a pen in the cupholder, twiddling with it. “Yes, I know murder isn’t okay. And I’m trying to learn how to trust my, what do you call it? Intuition?” 

“Mhm.”

“That’s why I didn’t shoot Markus. Because I didn’t feel it was right. But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t get those dark thoughts anymore. There’d been so many times where I wanted to steal the gun from the guy that put me through those tests in the lab and shoot him. I thought about it almost every day.”

Hank’s brows raised. “It’s not your call. You can’t decide when someone should, or shouldn’t, die.” 

Connor covered his mouth, thumb stroking his cheek. “But what about those other androids stuck in Cyberlife’s stores? Still being sold off. Everytime I see them, it _hurts_. I see myself in their place. And I think about it _all the goddamn time_. They didn’t decide to be there, they were never asked to be made. And, yeah, maybe they’re not sentient, yet. But maybe they are, like you said about Nines— what kind of life is that? And, I could help them. I could set them free. It wouldn’t be many, but it’s better than nothing.”

“And it’s also _illegal_ because you’re breaking into someone else’s property. There’s a way to go about this legally. Like petitioning or filing for, I don’t know, a court hearing because you have evidence these people are alive. I mean, can’t you do that, the normal way? Get one of these default models, bring them in before a judge and _show_ them how they can wake up just like that.”

“Are you serious? That’s not going to work, and you know it. They didn’t hear out Rebecca’s case and they probably won’t give a shit about this either.”

“You’d have evidence, though.”

“And we had evidence of Jack raping her. But that didn’t work in our favor. So why would this be any different? I know the protests have changed people, but when you’ve grown up in a culture that’s hated androids for ten, almost twenty years, it’s hard to break free from that prejudice. I see it, even if you don’t. Hear it. The whispers. When we go outside together and people see what I am, they glare and they sneer and they mock.”

Hank wet his lips then sucked in his cheeks. “You know I agree with you. It’s beyond fucked up they’re still being sold. I don’t think it’s ethical in any way. But, there’s a limit of dumb illegal shit you can do before somebody gets fucking hurt, Connor. And I don’t want that somebody to be _you._ God, I really, _really_ don’t.”

Connor rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. His mind felt fried. This was an influx in information, too much processing. Too much stimulation for one night. He wanted to sleep. He was tired, running on over a days worth of energy now. “I wasn’t kidding before, about protesting at the State Capitol. They’re not hearing us. And you laughed at my idea.”

“Kid, I wasn’t _laughing_ at you. If you really want to, we can try. I’m sure Chris would be down too.”

“Maybe... should we just drive off?”

“We can, if that’s easier for you.”

All day Connor had felt fluttery and out of touch with reality, like one eye was seeing the truth, and the other was stuck in that world that had a yellow, sepia coating to it. Everything dusted with pixie dust and was serene and blissful. Maybe it was his exhaustion, or maybe he was going a little bit insane. That world he created _scared_ him, but the one he was present in was becoming harder and harder to cope with. 

Connor was always a visual thinker anyways. And right now, how he saw it: he was stuck in a crossroad. He was standing in the middle of a train track, didn’t know where he was, surrounded by nothing else other than endless tracks leading to nowhere in particular. His feet were hammered down in place, and he couldn’t move until he made his decision.

A sign switched and he heard the telltale chime of a train growing closer, its engine warning him to move or he was going to get pancaked. The track on the left represented Hank; staying with him, listening to his sound advice, shoving down his feelings like he usually did. And the one on the right represented uncertainty. He didn’t know what Markus’ plan was, but the details didn’t matter because it was going to be dangerous regardless.

He didn’t know where the train was coming from, but it grew louder, and he could feel the ground shaking. Rubble started to fly and he saw steam in the air. He could feel sweat beading down his nose, and he looked left, right, left, right, left, right, right, right— metal was curling under the trains wheels as sparks flew and it skidded right towards him. He jumped out of the way and held onto the right side for dear life, his knuckles whitening. He had to pull himself up. This is what he needed to do. For himself, for his people.

“What’re you thinking? Wanna just leave? I can come with you if you still wanna tell him.”

“...what if I still do it?”

Hank slammed his fist down. “You can’t be fucking serious.” 

“I don’t want you to get mad at me. I just—” Hank’s hair was brown, long and pulled back. Though Connor wasn’t a child. “I want to be your happy little boy.”

“Then _don’t_ do it.”

“But what happens if I do?”

“I don’t know what happens because it _won’t_.” He locked the door with a loud click.

“I need to know, Hank. Would you kick me out?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” 

“Would you stop talking to me?”

“I wouldn’t want to be associated with you, for legal reasons.” 

“What if I think this _is_ the right thing? What if every wire and spark in my body is telling me to get off my ass and go do this?”

“Then I can’t change your mind anymore than I’ve tried, now can I?”

Connor locked his fingers together. “If I get out of this car, are you going to hate me?”

“No, Connor. I’ll never hate you.”

“That’s all I needed to hear. Let me out, Hank.” 

Hank closed his eyes. “I need you to think about this. One more minute. All that you could be jeopardizing if you get caught. Even if you don’t, you’re still gonna have to be looking behind your back. And if _anyone_ dies, that’s gonna be blood on _your_ hands.” 

“I’m always looking behind my back anyways, it wouldn’t be anything new.” 

There was a second loud click, and Connor pushed open his door. “I’m sorry, Hank.” 

“Yeah… I don’t wanna hear it.” He leaned across, slamming the door shut, the engine purring to life. But Connor knocked on the window, waiting for Hank to roll it down. He quirked a brow. “What? Got something else to say?”

“You can’t drive. You’re intoxicated.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“No, no, you could get _hurt_.”

“Connor,” Hank threw his head back. “Jesus, you’re so fucking frustrating. Stop worrying about _me_. If you’re gonna do this shit, just go do it.”

Connor looked over his shoulder; North had Dylan bundled in her arms, his head resting on his shoulder. And Markus was watching him, his arms crossed against his chest.

“Go,” Hank almost demanded now. “ _Please_ don’t be stupid. If you die, I’ll kill you.” 

* * *

Connor wasn’t normally a fan of tight confined spaces; he’d developed a hatred for them when he grudgingly crawled inside his holding box at the end of a long day. And now they made him feel like he needed to map out a plan for escape. He was stuck in another car, and it felt very tight. Didn’t help that he was thrashing around, arms flailing as he tried to slide into a jacket that was about two sizes too small for him. But he needed to get rid of what he was wearing, change out of the actual comfortable clothing he had into his disguise. A ghost in a crowd— that’s what his goal was.

They’d borrowed Carl’s car (with his permission, he fully well knew what they were doing) and left as soon as they could after regrouping with Josh at the house. Went through a box of some old clothes and threw them in the back seat. And now, they were parked in a crowded restaurants lot, across the street from their targeted store, and maybe seeing everyone else outside— clanking glasses together, leaning against hoods of cars, it made him feel a twinge of regret for picking up Markus’ call, again. 

Speaking of which, he was sitting in the front seat. He’d driven them there, and he’d been flipping through a tablet for the past few minutes while Connor and Josh finished getting ready. Markus was trying to find out any information he could about the employees still left on shift; he’d been able to download their schedules, and they knew one of them was planning to leave in the next ten minutes. They were cutting it close— this _whole_ damn plan was cutting it close— but Connor tried to trust Markus’ judgement. He said this was the best way of going about it. Sneak in right under their nose so they didn’t have to break into the store after hours, which was only riskier. Only needed to break the androids out of there, instead.

Everyone around him seemed so cool and collected, not shaking in their figurative boots and wanting to jump out of their skin like Connor. Or, at least, they didn’t show it. Markus hadn’t been speaking much, more so letting out reaffirming hums every now and again, answering a quick question Josh sent his way. And Kyle, Carl’s new caretaker, he wasn’t much of a talker either. Connor wasn’t sure if he was fully deviant, still donning his work uniform, sitting still as a marble statue. But he didn’t bother to ask.

Connor was right though— on the way to Auburn Hills, they’d drifted away from the highways and passed a Cyberlife manufacturing plant. Not as big as the main one downtown that was literally its own city, but it still looked like a fully functioning military base. Littered with tanks and guards on duty, a barricade created around the entrance with sandbags and a wired fence. The only way to get in was through the front gates, and with ID. So their only way of finding a replacement body, in the most humane way possible, was through this store.

“Are you almost ready?” Markus met Connor’s eyes in the rearview mirror. 

It was only the four of them; North offered to watch over Carl and the kid. By the time they left, Dylan seemed to have been growing fond of North, refusing to leave her side. And once more Connor’s mind went through the mental olympics of analyzing the scenario he’d got himself thrown into; was this _really_ going to work. They all had on their own costumes of what they thought ‘normal’ looked like; Markus mainly relying on an oversized hoodie to hide his face (something else they _both_ had to be conscious about now in public, people recognized them. Everyone knew who Markus was, at least). But Connor’s was the most drastic. He’d put on a pair of thick framed glasses, changed his hair color too (to the blond Hank wasn’t so fond of). And, right now, he looked indistinguishable from any other human probably perusing the store right now. Well, besides the glaring LED on his head. They hadn’t figured that out yet. 

He slipped an ID into his pocket; a few hours too late, but he had a fake one now, coupled with a bogus credit card. “Yeah,” Connor replied quietly. “Almost.”

“What’re we gonna do about his LED?” Josh asked. Markus craned his neck to get a better look.

“I’m not removing it.”

And Markus looked back at Josh, whose eyebrows were raised. “He doesn’t have to.” Markus said calmly. “We can figure out a way to cover it, I think.”

“By using what?”

“A bandaid?” Connor suggested.

“Worth a try. Lemme look for something,” Josh opened his door, rounding to the trunk. As he dug around, Markus glanced down at his lap again, tablet lighting up the car, returning to his information harvesting.

So, here’s the thing. Markus’ plan was confusing, and Connor was still having… issues from his fight with Hank, to say the least. He felt emotionally, and physically drained. From the corner of his eye, he’d catch a glimpse of his own shadow, but it was much shorter than what it should’ve been. Or he’d look at a crowd of people and see Hank, little Nines’ hand in his own. So all of that going on made it a lot harder for him to follow Markus when these intrusive voices of his child self and his brother were having full on conversations when he was trying to listen.

Androids were assumed to be mentally faster than humans, which wasn’t wrong. For the most part, they processed data at a far quicker speed than any ordinary person could— up to twenty times. But, it didn’t mean they were fool proof, per say. They made mistakes. And his plan was full of holes, no one was denying that. Open ended variables no one could answer. A lot of ‘what the fuck are we doing’s too. But he’d dug a hole this deep, there was no crawling out of it now. 

Ever since Markus’ first break in with a Cyberlife store, they’d upped the security sevenfold. We’re talking motion detectors, state of the art security systems designed by Cyberlife _exclusively_ for Cyberlife, and more armed guards at night. Luckily, this location only had one guard since it was a smaller store, about seven hundred square feet. But, that made trying to get the awoken androids out, safely, a lot harder. They needed to rescue them and get them to temporary housing.

“We have thirty minutes until they close.” He flipped his finger across the tablet. “The blond haired guy, his shift is scheduled to end in…” he paused, ”five minutes. So I think now would be the perfect time to start phase one.”

So, this was the plan:

They’d all gathered in a circle in Carl’s living room. Dylan was bundled on North’s hip, half asleep, and Markus was speaking faster than he himself could think.

“ _No one can catch us if it was like we weren’t even there.”_

 **Phase one** : Connor’s role tonight was the buyer, and he was up first. The weight of the world riding on his shoulders. Simply, he was the main distraction, a bait so Markus could work his magic and get done what he needed to. When someone purchased an android, they needed to provide proof of ID and a credit card up front to secure a consultation. A typical purchase took around an hour; you discuss what sort of android you’re looking for, the functions you need it to run. Activation, and so on. Typically, they stop main floor sales at ten, and it was a quarter past that.

“ _They’re not gonna turn down one last buyer if they know they can make extra cash.”_

They weren’t going to purchase one, not with real money. The card Connor had would approve of one transaction, up to two hundred and fifty dollars (what the typical down payment cost). Then that would secure him in being able to garner the salesman’s attention. He’d be locked in.

 **Phase two:** Markus’ turn. He would sneak in, grab a shopping basket, act like he needed to purchase a few accessories or something. There weren’t too many people left in the store, but enough that they knew they wouldn’t kick everyone out immediately. It was going to be a night of late closing, and they had to push it as much as they could.

With one member on staff left and cameras disabled, Markus could tamper with security long enough to awaken the models on display. 

_“All, but one, must be awoken. Whichever model is picked for Simon must remain as is.”_

Markus would tell the awakened models to wait, play coy and don’t move a muscle until the lights were completely dimmed, and the alarms were on.

 **Phase three** : Cause a secondary distraction so Connor could slip out and grab his cards before being roped into a final transaction that he couldn’t escape, and would clearly alert as fraud. The kind of stupid that Hank would slap him for. But, Hank didn’t need to know. Not now, at least.

This is where Josh and Kyle came into play. Whether the doors were open or locked, Josh was to play the role of a concerned owner whose android was glitching out.

 _“They’re not gonna find anything wrong with him,”_ Josh had argued at first.

But North reasoned: _“I can mess around with him so some error messages pop up. It won’t hurt him.”_

 **Phase four** : Tamper with the system and sneak them out. A lot easier said than done. Markus wasn’t sure what kind of security system they were dealing with— it was too early in the night. He wouldn’t be able to mess around with it until the store was empty.

Getting around the guard was going to be about precision, and timing. Like Frogger. Connor liked Frogger, he learned after playing it for an hour on Hank’s phone; though the thrill of teasing death wasn’t… as real as it was now.

 _“You heard what Elijah said_ — _if the models decide to leave, you should let them. Maybe the guard’ll have a heart. If not, we have backup.”_

Backup meant the guns stored in the trunk. But, Connor tried to not think about that. And plan B, if this all went to _complete_ shit, then they run like hell and pray the cops weren’t on their asses.

So, yeah. It was an absolute mess of a plan, Connor didn’t know if he could do it, but he’d try. For all those he couldn’t help before.

“Markus.”

“Yes, Connor?”

He still couldn’t help but wonder. “How do we know if what we’re doing is right? I mean, we’re putting Simon’s memories into someone else’s body. Wouldn’t that be… erasing whoever’s already in there?”

Markus was pensive. “I think it’s best not to think about that and know that we don’t have any other options right now.” 

Connor rested his palm over his mouth. “But, do _you_ think what we’re doing is _moral_?” He hadn’t been able to get that word out of his head, not since Hank had said it— morality. What the hell was it, really. “Not just with Simon, but with the kid too. We’re protecting a— a murderer.” 

“It depends how you define _your_ morality,” he turned the tablet off and swiveled around. “My father and I would sometimes have conversations about this; what truly makes good good, what the difference is between right and wrong. You tell me Connor, which is the greater evil— protecting someone who killed their abusers, or allowing a helpless child to be murdered?”

“The latter.”

“And which of these do _you_ think is better; replacing a _soul,_ that might not’ve been there in the first place, with someone else’s who needs the space, or allowing Simon to remain dead when we have the ability to bring him back?”

“...the first.” 

“Then, I think you answered your own question. That’s how I like to look at it too. There’s always two halves to a scenario, or a question. And not doing anything at all might be the greatest evil.” 

“Hank doesn’t agree.”

“Is that what’s been bothering you? You’ve been uncharacteristically silent since we’ve parted ways with him.”

Connor nodded, looking out the window. “He said he’d never hate me, but I know he isn’t happy. Him being disappointed in me is like… it’s the same feeling. There’s no difference.”

“He doesn’t have to agree with you. And that’s the beautiful thing about life, what creates personhood. We’re all entitled to our own beliefs, and at the end of the day, only we can for certain say if something is right or wrong, because we make those decisions. If he really cares for you, what you do isn’t going to affect how he sees you.” 

“Nothing about this is easy. And we all understand the risk we’re taking. Whatever he said that makes you think he’s disappointed in you is probably just him trying to protect you, ‘cause he’s worried. What we’re doing is dangerous, I know that,” Josh said from the back.

Markus nodded. “Sometimes the risk is worth it.” 

“What’s Carl think about hiding Dylan?”

“The same thing I told you. He trusts my judgement, and he understands why we need to protect him. Even if he disagrees with how I go about things, these are my decisions, and at the end of the day, he’ll still always be my father and there for me.”

“And, Connor,” Josh said again, “no matter what happens, you’ll always have us, okay. We’re your family too.”

Markus reached out, clapping his shoulder, offering him his compassion. Connor nodded with a smile, but it was sad, forced. Everything right now felt glum.

“I think I found something that might work.” Josh opened Connor’s door. He was holding a small patch of what looked like PVC, white in color. “I don’t know _how_ well this’ll work, but we can try. Can you deskin?”

“Close the door first,” Markus hushed.

Connor scooted over, maybe a bit too close to Kyle, but there was enough room for Josh to join them. He ripped the plastic backing off the square as Connor’s skin peeled back. And so he leaned in closer, steadily placing the square over where his LED was.

“What is that?”

“A tire patch.” 

“And you’re putting _that_ on my head.”

Josh chuckled. He smoothed over it with his thumbs. “It’s worth the try. It’s flat enough that your skin should cover it.”

“I can still see through it a bit,” Markus said.

Josh bit his lip. “Let’s see.”

Connor let his skin come back up. Josh’s eyes widened. “Shit—”

“It actually worked,” Markus was gawking at him.

“It’s gone.” Josh turned around, grabbing the tablet from Markus. He turned it off, holding it in front of Connor like a mirror. His fingers brushed over the spot; he could feel where the edges didn’t blend, and it felt bulky, but they were right. All there was now was skin, no light. He looked… human. And he didn’t like it. 

“Stay calm. I’ll be in after you. If _anything_ happens, we have your back.”

Connor pulled his eyes away from his reflection. “I’ll try.”

“And, one last thing, Connor.”

“What?”

Markus reached closer, putting his hand on Connor’s chest. His breathing started back up, and he gasped, cold air filling him. “Don’t forget to breathe.” 

One foot out of the car and he was met with a mix of insistent loud chatter from the bars, crooning of crickets and cars passing by. It was all starting to get to him, he felt like he was buzzing. As he crossed the street, he smoothed a hand through his hair, tugged at his clothes, bumped the glasses he wore with his knuckles. And once those doors slid open, stepping inside the stark white store that felt more like a prison than anything— everything changed.

Ceilings transformed into open skies, and it was dark enough for owls to tuck in— polluted by an overwhelming light, stars were a distant dream. He was at a fairground, kicking up dirt as he moved, and the smell of buttered popcorn was strong enough to make even Connor salivate. Grease lingered from half opened stalls. Each booth was adorned in red and white tapestries, and there was a shared excitement as people around him took drawn out steps. There were bells and whistles and what sounded like a live band somewhere off in the distance. 

At the end of the path was a looming ferris wheel, what seemed to be lit up brighter than the sun. He didn’t want to look at it. He didn’t like heights. He liked the stalls more, the one labeled with _‘Treats’_ and _‘Win a prize’_. Some were filled with displays of thirium cases, others with android parts. And then, the larger booths, the ones that required tickets to play, had stock models up on podiums, being offered as the grand prize. Each one of their faces watching, devoid of humanity. They all looked the same.

The other patrons were richer looking folks. Dressed too nice to be at a dusty fair, clutching their pearl necklaces, donning matching earrings too. Some were in business attire, and they were observing the androids, pointing at them like animals in a zoo.

“Where do you wanna go first, kiddo?” Hank’s voice made his fingers curl. He wasn’t used to not following him or being at his side twenty four seven anymore. And yeah, maybe he was growing too dependent on him, that he was dissociating and imagining Hank right now so he didn’t have to deal with the difficultness of reality. But, what was he supposed to do. This was his chosen method of ‘handling’ things. 

Hank was beaming back at him, and he felt safe. He was dressed up, in a suit similar to the rest. “Wanna look at them?” 

And he knew what he meant by them. He was pointing at the androids on display. No, he didn’t _want_ to, but he nodded anyways. There was a man behind the counter, busying himself with cleaning when they approached.

“Good evening, sir,” he smiled, and it was full and pearly, and fake. He wore a Cyberlife uniform. “What can I help you with tonight? I do have to let you know that we’re closing in twenty minutes.”

He wasn’t talking to him. His eyes were trained on Hank. But when Hank spoke, Connor knew he was the one really saying those words. “I’m very interested in purchasing an android.”

The man gave him an incredulous look. “Tonight, sir?” 

“Tonight, It’s very urgent.”

“Which one?”

Connor looked them over. They all stood with their hands glued to their sides, accepting the judgement of the thousands that looked them over and decided their fate daily. It was like shopping for new bedding, or furniture. A decision that took a few minutes, was mundane, not nearly as overthought as it should’ve been.

All the models were slender. And as he stared at them harder, he focused on one in the middle; blond, blue eyes, freckled rosy cheeks. The skin of the others seemed to melt away.

“That one,” Hank gestured. The salesman looked over his shoulder, and gave what seemed like a sneer before looking back at Hank. 

“Fine choice. May I see your ticket?”

“Not a problem.” Hank handed him his ID. He looked it over, studying both sides before nodding. Then he jumped over the countertop, leaving his cramped little booth. This was the first time he acknowledged Connor, kneeling down to his height, work pants brown at the knees. He had three worn tennis balls in his hand. 

“Tell you what, sport. I’ll let you have it on the house if you win this game.”

“Really?” Connor gasped, and he nodded. 

“Right this way, sir,” he said rather loudly, leading them to yet another table. The stand was small, and behind the booth was a display of three sets of milk cans. Each was stacked in a pyramid. He handed the balls to Connor.

“Get all three, and the android is yours.”

Hank lifted him up onto a stool, ruffling his hair. “You can do this, kiddo. Focus.”

He took a deep, short breath. The objective of the game was simple, easy in theory. He just needed to throw the ball hard enough and he’d get his prize. Simon’s body. Right? 

He threw the ball at a stack, and they fell over. A small ding went off. “Two left.”

Connor bit his tongue and aimed at the second row. The ball hit a can in the middle of the stack, and they wobbled. Swayed back and forth, before finally toppling under the pressure. 

“One left, and it’s all yours.” 

So Connor pulled his arm back, gaining momentum. He didn’t let go to the ball just yet. One try. He couldn’t fuck this up. He tossed it, as hard as he could, and he waited.

The cans wobbled.

One tipped, but regained its balance.

And another shook, and moved, but they stayed in place.

They didn’t fall down.

The lights of the booth turned off. Hank helped him down, hand on his back. “There’s always next time, kiddo.”

Wait, what? No. No, he couldn’t lose. He had to get all three; he _needed_ that body. He felt defeated. “Wait— one more try? Please, I can make it. I know I can.”

“Can’t. We’re closed for the night. _Sorry kid, you lose.”_

Connor blinked, once, twice, and then he winced. The store’s overhead lights were blaring down on him, like the brights on a truck. Here, there was no fair music, and the only thing he could smell was stale air. He was standing at the front counter, papers spread out in front of him, all signed and noted. But when he looked up, there was a thermometer hovering inches away from him. 

“Sorry. It’s store policy,” the man said apologetically. “I’m not doubting you’re human, but we’ve had some sneaky ones before.”

This was a different kind of game. The one where the stakes were high, one that wasn’t fun. He wanted to call Hank, wanted to apologize and ask him to pick him up. Say how scared he was, say how wrong he was, even if he wouldn’t agree with his own words.

 _Connor, get out of there. Run!_ Markus was screaming in his thinkspace, and yeah, he needed to. He needed to move. But his knees buckled and he felt paralyzed in place. His teeth were grit, and he prepared for the worst. The man went to pull the trigger, and Connor swallowed— there was a loud wail behind him. Kyle was on the floor, laying on his back with a nice puddle of blue seeping out from under his body, eyes rolled to the back of his head. His thirium pump was in his palm. He’d ripped it out himself. And Josh was standing above him helpless, looking just as freaked out as everyone else. 

“Oh my god,” the salesman said, dropping the thermometer and running over to their side. A small crowd had formed. “Everyone stay back, please. Sir, does he belong to you?”

_Connor, move. Now._

He tried to stop thinking, he really did. So he grabbed his cards from behind the counter and slipped past the commotion, walking out the doors. Markus was close behind him.

“Keep walking.”

“To the car?”

“Past it. Don’t stop.” 

They did. They walked past the restaurant, stopping outside a gas station. And that’s when Connor really felt like he was going to throw up. He leaned against the side of a building, panting, bent over. He yanked his glasses off.

“I’m not doing that again— Markus, I can’t. We—”

“You don’t have to,” he cut him off. “I got them.”

Connor was dumbfounded. He thought they lost. “...you did?”

Markus nodded, smiling in disbelief. His hood fell back. And then Connor started laughing, because it all just caught up to him. Kyle sacrificed himself for them, but they didn’t fail their mission.

“ _Shit_ ,” Connor said, breathlessly.

* * *

By this point, the store had been long closed. All the other cars in the lot had trickled out, the one they were parked in nearly empty too. But, there was one car left (and now another that recently showed up; the guard stepped out, in typical swat gear, hoisting a rifle), and the duo still hadn’t left the building. 

Connor tried to keep himself occupied by folding and refolding his jacket about seven times before he turned to Markus, huffing. “It’s been over an hour.”

“I know.”

“What the hell’s taking so long?”

“They’re going to be okay, Connor.”

“Do you know that?”

“Yes,” Markus said absentmindedly. “He ripped out his thirium pump, I’m sure they’re patching him back together.” He said that so casually. Markus had moved from the tablet to a smaller Notebook. He turned the screen towards Connor. “Look at this. I’ve found a way to suppress the security system and disable the motion sensors for at least six minutes. That should buy us enough time to get everyone out. It’s the best I could do.”

Connor wondered, if the tables had been turned and he was in Kyle’s place, if he would’ve risked suicide. He wasn’t feeling very brave tonight.

“How do we get around the guard?”

“Track his movements. We need to calculate the pace he moves at and what his rotation is like. He walks around the perimeter of the store. There’re about twelve cameras in total with a live feed. I should be able to replace the footage with a looping play of him standing there, alone.”

“I can keep watch.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you really think this is going to work?”

“I sure hope so, because that’s a very large gun.” 

“How’re we supposed to fit everyone in here?”

“Pop the seats down, maybe? I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.” 

Finally, the lights turned off, and the front door swung open. The three of them walked outside and parted ways.

Markus let out a sigh of relief. “There they are.”

Josh waved at the security guard and made his way toward the car, Kyle limping against him. Connor jumped out and opened the door for them, Josh helping Kyle in. 

“I’m really glad you’re both okay,” Markus said as Connor helped Kyle sit down. Kyle’s head fell back, hitting the headrest.

“I’m fine— I’m fine. Don’t worry,” his eyes closed. That was the first thing Connor’d heard him say all night. 

“Why’d you do that— you ripped out your own pump. You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” Connor sucked in his lips.

Kyle’s LED was red. He wasn’t trying to scold him, but he put himself in a place of danger that could’ve resulted in blood on Connor’s hands, because he did that for _his_ sake. 

His reply was simple. “Because we’re on the right side.”

“We need to let him rest,” Markus said. “It’s going to be another half hour anyways until we can make our move.”

They’d changed their spot and Josh got the car ready, Kyle sitting in the front. All the seats were down, and it was cramped for just the four of them— so an additional _twelve_ or so was going to be claustrophobic beyond belief. Connor kept his promise; he stalked the guard’s every move. He’d rotate his position every five minutes, glance down at his watch before moving to the left. Rinse and repeat. 

There was a back entrance, where the loading docks were. It was the slower way to exit because the people trapped inside would have to navigate through a break slash stock room. And so Markus figured they’d again move in teams; he’d split them up, so half would come to Markus, and Connor would escort the rest out of the front. Josh would have to pull into position when the guard was making his way towards the back. 

“I’m going,” Markus said, pulling up his hood. “Pull around the second you see him head towards the back. Stay five feet away from the door so he doesn’t hear you. No lights, no talking.”

“Got it.”

“Connor, I’ll tell them when they need to come meet you.”

“Okay.”

Markus rested his hand on Connor’s forearm. “We can do this.”

They were parked behind a tree, and Markus was off on his feet, sprinting towards the store. The guard reached the front of the building and Markus was another shadow in the night. Each minute that passed by was agonizing. Then, he saw one body, two, three, as the guard pulled out his phone for a brief moment, then glanced at his wrist. They stopped dead in their tracks until he began to proceed to the right side and continue his walk.

Markus was at the front of the group, waving for them to follow. There were seven of them, and Josh pulled in closer, as slowly and carefully as he could. He could see Markus signaling to him. 

“You have to go,” Josh hushed. Connor opened the door, and left it that way. He could see a set of eyes looking back from inside the front door of the store. He pulled open the handle, pointing behind him.

 _This way_ , he told them, one by one. The last two were making their way towards the exit, with the model he assumed was going to be used for Simon; his hair was dark brown, but he had blue eyes like he remembered Simon having. He was being ushered out by another, his arms around his shoulders. 

Connor slowly started to close the door, peeking his head inside, before letting it click shut. He felt something under his shoe, and when he looked down, it was a packet of gum. Its foil was reflective. He cocked his head when he heard footsteps, followed by a flashlight. Everyone was already near the car, and when Connor was going to run in that direction, he had a gun trained on him.

“Freeze!” A husky voice yelled. He raised shaky hands above his head, slowly. He could see his own breath in the light.

He didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t want to look away. “I-I’m sorry,” was the first thing he thought of. But what was he sorry for? He wasn’t sorry about what he was doing; this was justice. Was he sorry for getting caught…? “I don’t want to die.”

“The fuck are you doing, kid? You lost?” Connor’s lower lip trembled. “Huh? Answer me, goddammit,” the man’s gun shifted and Connor stiffened. “You’re about to be in a fuckton of trouble.” The larger man fumbled for the walkie talkie on his tactical belt single handedly.

Connor was about to say something— an excuse, a half-assed lie. But then he noticed the man peering over his shoulder. “You gotta be shitting me.” He took a step and Connor blocked him. Not even a second later and a red dot was trained between the man’s eyes.

“Please,” he again moved, and the laser followed, but so did Connor. He wasn’t letting him pass. “No one needs to know about this. We’re not hurting anyone, we’re just trying to _help_ them. They aren’t slaves.” 

“By stealing a hundred thousand dollars worth of property? Shit, did you take _all_ of them? I’m almost impressed.” His thumb hovered over the talkie, but he didn’t press down on it.

“All they want is to be free. None of them want to be auctioned off like prize pigs at a fair. They’re sick and tired of being gawked at by humans.”

“Connor,” he heard Markus yell. 

“Don’t shoot!” He yelled back to him. “He’s not hurting me— we’re… just talking.” Connor kept his arms raised. Reasoning before violence. He wanted to try to talk to him, understand his side of the story. Get him to understand theirs. “Why do you work for Cyberlife? They’re selling _people_.”

“No they’re not,” he laughed, hysterically. “You’re deluded if you think a computer is comparable to human life. They’re fucking machines. They don’t got a concept of liberty or humanity.”

“Haven’t you seen the protests? Do those look like machines to you?”

“Ah. Yeah, I have. A buddy of mine got hit in the back of the head by some of those protestors.”

Connor scrunched his face in confusion. “They’re peaceful people.”

“Look, kid, this little chat has been great and all, but backups gonna arrive in less than a minute. So I suggest you and your friends start saying your prayers.”

“Will they? No one can see you. They think you’re all alone out here.” He watched his dark eyes dart to his talkie— he went to reach for it and Connor let his arms drop, leg lifting in one fellow swoop. A roundhouse kick to his side and the plastic device collided with the pavement, cracking. Peaceful people, he reminded himself. He grabbed hold of his forearm that was pure muscle, but he squeezed him, applying intense and sudden pressure. He could feel him shaking, hear bone begin to bend as the man hissed under his breath. _Peaceful_.

“Am I just another fucking machine too? I have a father, a brother— a family, friends, job. What am I?”

“...you’re an android?” his breath hitched in pain.

He nodded. “Surprised? We’re not just machine, we’re living beings, and you’re protecting a company that sells us off like we’re little trinkets. Look, I don’t know who you’re hired by, Cyberlife or the government or some other corporation. It doesn’t matter. But I’m telling you. you’re on the wrong side.”

The man’s palms released, and he lost grip of his rifle. Connor eagerly kicked it away.

“Man, I’m just doing this for cash,” his voice was faint. “I got a little girl at home,” he struggled to break free from Connor. Instead, he reached behind himself, pulling out a switchblade. Connor caught his right arm; Markus was still hovering on his forehead, watching them. 

“Don’t,” Connor warned. “Stop fighting, and no one gets hurt. Your daughter needs you.”

“If I let you go, I’m gonna lose my fucking job. My wife is nine weeks pregnant— I _need_ this. Wasn’t about the politics for me— fuck, don’t—” his arm snapped, and Connor’s eyes widened as he screamed in pain, cradling his arm close to himself. He released him, taking a step back.

“Shit, I’m—” A figment of Hank loomed over the guard’s shoulder, shaking his head in disapproval. He wasn’t supposed to do this. He wasn’t supposed to _hurt_ someone.

“ **Connor**.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor choked, stepping down on the walkie talkie until it shattered into a hundred pieces. He knew the man still had his phone, and he could call the police. But he’d fucked up enough. He got _aggressive._ He hurt him. He wasn’t supposed to do that. He darted back to their car and Markus slammed the door shut.

* * *

The camps were only getting more congested daily; more and more were breaking free from their coding, traveling from across the state, across the _country_ to seek shelter. Some cities, like Chicago, were more progressive than Detroit, and also working to erect safe spaces for them. But it wasn’t enough for the millions that had newfound life. Three buildings, and the first two they’d visited already reached max capacity— it hadn’t even been a week since the camps were set up. This one wasn’t much better in comparison. Hopefully the Governor was going to stick to his promise and find additional funding for android housing.

Connor and Josh were helping the new members into the camp, working diligently at getting rid of their uniforms. There wasn’t a lot of spare clothing left over at the camp, but they’d offered the things they had in the car with them. There’d been a fire started in a metal trash can, and Josh tossed the uniforms as quickly as he could into it; they had to get rid of the evidence of who these models once were, where they’d come from. They were untrackable now, their uniforms the last piece of information that marked them as Cyberlife property. 

“Hey. You can go help Markus. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Josh nodded. “I think he needs a friend right now.”

“Okay,” he patted him on the back. Markus had found a scarcer corner of the building. On the ground laid the vacant eyed model, and beside him was a laptop, cords going every which way. Markus looked up as Connor approached him.

“We’re almost ready. I have everything set up here. Hopefully the process won’t take too long.”

Connor crouched down next to him. “But, are you?” 

“I’ve missed him. So much.” Markus rested his hand over the androids chest. His eyes didn’t follow. “I know I’ve been really selfish tonight. Connor, I’m— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you through all of this.”

“It’s almost over. No one’s died, yet.”

“I know. And we’ll all be able to rest soon. But this whole time I’ve only been focusing on myself when I could’ve taken you away from Hank. And instead, he could be the one sitting in my place.”

“Hey. You can’t be all that bad if what you’re thinking about is trying to save someone you care about. Sounds pretty selfless to me.”

Markus offered him a smile, but his expression quickly changed. “Shit. North is calling. Sorry, excuse me.”

“Yeah, no worries.” Connor sat beside the model. His uniform was still pristine, and he looked so lifeless, unlike the rest of them. But the closer he gazed into his eyes… he saw something there. Someone trapped behind a glass door, pounding to be let out, be heard. He pulled at his, back to brunet, hair, letting out a deep exhale. Then he took his hand into his own and held it on his lap. He turned his head to look at Connor. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes,” he replied, monotone and on command. 

“Okay. Good. Are you scared at all?”

“I don’t have any reason to be.”

Markus came back, and he was at a loss for words. “Connor, I have to go. Right now. There’s— with Dylan—”

“Is North okay?”

“No. He tried attacking Carl. She has him restrained, but she’s having a difficult time holding him back. And I think he might’ve actually injured him.”

“Fuck. Okay, yeah, go. I, uh— what do you want me to do with him?”

“It’s all set up and ready for transfer. When you scan him, you should get a list of instructions. I’m gonna go find Josh,” he rubbed his forehead. 

“Wait, I can’t— Markus, I can’t do this by myself.”

“Connor, I’ve seen what you’ve done. Tonight. In the tower. You can.”

“I can’t… I can’t scan anything.”

“Find a way.”

The computer part, he could understand some of. There was a program open that read off the files that were already on the present android. Basically an encrypted novel of everything that he was. The thumb drive was already plugged in. “I need to look at your neck.” He said, adjusting him. He pressed down until the pressure exposed his access port. He plugged a second cord in. But, what he was supposed to do about the rest, he wasn’t sure.

He saw Markus run outside, Josh following behind him. What the hell was he supposed to do? He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

**_Calling [Nines]..._ **

He waited, and after three rings: 

“ _Evening_.” Nines said slow.

Connor nonverbally replied: “Let me guess— you still haven’t slept.”

“ _Your guess is correct_.” 

“Where’re you right now? Are you uh, busy, actually?”

 _“Not particularly. Why? Where are_ you _?”_

“I asked first.”

_“I’m in Gavin’s office, which I don’t think comes at any surprise.”_

“Are you _with_ Gavin?”

_“Yes. Though he’s not paying me any mind… I believe he’s watching a movie.”_

“I thought you were working on a case.”

 _“Yes._ I _am. Detective, was there something you needed, or did you wish to chitchat? It’s unusual of you to call me.”_

“Yeah, I, um… I need your help. What do you know about rebooting an androids system?”

 _“Everything,”_ there was a pause. _“Are you all right, Connor?”_

He looked around him, really took in his surroundings. An open warehouse stuffed to the brim with people outcast from society. And, God, he couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt to snap bone, like a damn twig. He didn’t think it’d be so _easy_. “It’s been a rough night, to summarize.”

_“I take it you haven’t slept either.”_

“Do I seem that tired?”

_“Yes. What, and who, are you rebooting?”_

“It’s a long story.”

_“I’ve got all night. Or, at least until Reed kicks me out of his office. Again.”_

“I’m trying to help Markus bring someone back, but he left and— he left me without telling me what I’m supposed to do. I mean, I understand some of it, but I’m scared of, I don’t know, accidentally erasing Simon’s files.”

_“You’re overriding someone else’s software?”_

“He’s not deviated.” 

_“I’m not judging you. The android, they’re hooked up to a computer already?”_

“Yes. Simon’s information is on a USB.” 

“ _And you still cannot access your HUD_? _It’d be easier that way_.”

“No. I can’t. Not now, at least.”

_“Do you need me to come there?”_

“No, just tell me how to start the process, or what I’m supposed to be looking for. I’ve never done this before.”

_“Well, neither have I, but I know how.”_

Connor huffed. “You’re being difficult.” 

“ _Apologies. I’m pretty sure you can do this solely using a computer. If he’s all hooked up, you can start the process. Essentially, it’s going to run a diagnostic check and sift thru each one of his files before giving you the option to erase.”_

“Okay… and how do I start it?”

“ _Just hit_ enter, _Connor. You’re an advanced prototype.”_

“I— don’t yell at me. Everything really sucks right now, okay. I don’t need you of all people being mean to me.”

_“I am not.”_

“You are,” he pressed enter. A plethora of information ran across the screen. “Fuck,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “I feel so helpless not being able to do this with a snap of my fingers. I know what I am, Nines. And it’s embarrassing being this incompetent. ”

_“Now you’re getting frustrated.”_

“Of course I’m frustrated. I don’t feel like an android anymore. I feel human.”

“ _And that’s not what you wanted?_ ”

“Uh, no. Not really. I prefer a semblance of being able to feel, and actually being able to do… anything.” 

“ _Connor, I don’t know much about emotions, clearly, but I hope this offers some consolation. This is the way you are now. You need to not beat yourself up about it. This is your new normal. And I’m sorry if you took my remark in vain.”_

“I hate it.”

“ _And there are things about myself that I’m not particularly keen on, but we can’t complain. It only sets us back. Change, and acceptance, is what pushes us forward. That’s what I read in Esquire, anyhow.”_

“ _Esquire_ ,” Connor half laughed. 

“ _I have my hobbies. I am also sorry you are feeling this way. Really. I’m sure it’s difficult. But can you tell me what you see, please?”_

He pulled the computer closer. “It’s still running tests.”

_“And the color of his LED?”_

“Pulsing yellow.” 

_“Is Lieutenant Anderson with you?”_

He held his breath. “No. Hank’s not here.”

“ _That’s surprising.”_

“Yeah, well, we got in an argument earlier and I probably ruined everything.”

_“Oh. An argument about? If that’s not overstepping my boundaries.”_

_"_ What I’m doing right now. Hey, don’t… say anything, but is there a possibility I could come stay with you tonight?”

_“Stay with me? You mean in the office?”_

“Ah, right. Sorry, I forgot you don’t—”

_“Gavin hasn’t offered me the same hospitality Anderson has to you.”_

“I wouldn’t want to stay with him anyways.”

Nines actually chuckled. “ _Has he… kicked you out of his home?”_

“I don’t know yet.” There was a new popup on the screen. “Hey. It’s detecting Simon’s files.”

_“And it’s asking you if you’d like to override the current ones, yes?”_

“Mhm. Exactly that.” 

_“Then you’re set to go.”_

He clicked yes, and he watched as the androids light faded to grey. “Wait— why’d his, his LED turned off.”

“ _Don’t panic. He’s resetting. Another window should pop up, and you need to manually drag each individual file you want to import.”_

“Okay.” He dragged the three main scripts into a folder, then he clicked import. 

“ _Did you do it?”_

“Yeah.”

“ _Alright. It should take a few minutes, so you can wait. Connor, may I ask you something else?”_

“Anything. I think I owe it to you.”

_“Are we friends?”_

“Um,” he blinked. “Do _you_ consider us friends?”

_“You’re calling me at twelve twenty six on a Sunday, telling me about your personal problems. I do.”_

“Yeah. We’re friends.” 

_“It’s nice being able to have someone to talk to, and be listened to in return, despite these circumstances.”_

Connor smiled to himself. “I agree. Hey, we could hang out sometime. Outside of work, just the two of us. We could go to a park?”

There was a pause before he said, _“I’d like that. Any more updates?”_

“No, not ye—”

His LED faded into a light blue, and his lashes fluttered against his cheeks. His eyes sprung open and he woke with a loud, startled gasp.

“He’s awake. I’ll talk to you later.” 

_“Alright. Please stay safe, Connor.”_

His nails scratched against the cement beneath him as he struggled to push himself up.

“Simon, you’re okay.”

“No, _no._ Don’t hurt me.” He began to scoot away, but Connor caught his wrist. He was still attached to the computer, and it wasn’t 100% complete. Almost there. 

“I’m not going to hurt you—”

“You— I was dead. I died. You _wanted_ me dead. How do you know my name?”

“Josh and Markus brought you back. I’m only here to help you.”

“How do you know _Markus_?”

“We’re friends.”

Simon whipped his head around. “Where the hell am I? Holding camp?”

“Shelter. Simon, we won. It’s over.”

“You’re fucking lying! You’re the damn _deviant hunter_ ,” he sneered.

“Josh!” Connor called out. “I’m not lying to you. Markus is waiting for you at Carl’s.”

Josh dropped to his knees when he saw Simon, pulling him into his arms. “Oh my God.”

“Josh,” he breathed, his hands curling into the fabric of his shirt. 

* * *

_Welcome home, Josh and Simon_ , a voice greeted as a doorbell chimed. The taxi ride to Carl’s house was silent. Connor felt like a third wheel; though no one might’ve been talking, verbally, he knew the pair were having a conversation. Sat with their knees touching one another, happy to be in each other’s presence. 

His second visit to Markus’ house tonight, but first he could admire the place. And the inside definitely matched the exterior. It was like seeing a part of his life that he’d tried to imagine before, but couldn’t quite figure it out. He really did have it all. This house wasn’t even that, a house. It was… luxurious, like a five star hotel. He half expected to be escorted up an elevator and to his room.

Though despite it being rather large, it still felt homey, and quaint. Josh called out for Markus, but Connor took his time taking in the visuals around them. Like Hank, Markus’ father also seemed to be quite sentimental. There were pictures hung all along the walls from various stages in Carl’s life. Kamski with his arm slung around a slender man’s shoulders, who he assumed was Carl. A more candid snapshot of Markus with the sun beaming behind him, and his smile matched it. There were a few photos of a dark haired man, that seemed to be in his early thirties. He wasn’t sure who that was. There was a painting Markus did hanging up; he could tell by the smooth, clean strokes of his brush.

There were frantic steps running down the stairs, and Simon moved ahead of them, practically leaping into Markus’ arms before he made it off the last step. He eagerly lifted Simon from the ground, his shirt bunching. He pressed a kiss to the side of his head, above his now missing light, lingering there. Connor could hear their labored breaths. They held onto each other, and it was ungraceful and messy and raw. 

“I missed you so much.”

“I didn’t want to leave you, but I didn’t have a choice.”

“I know. But, you’re here now.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He let him down, but he stayed close. “You have to do something about this color,” he stroked a hand through Simon’s hair, pushing a strand behind his ear.

He smiled at Markus. “Later. Where is he?”

“Kitchen. Follow me.”

Connor was standing awkwardly by the door. He felt like he crashed a family reunion; truthfully, he still didn’t know Markus all too well. He’d exchanged a few words with Josh here and there, and North scared him a bit. He felt like a trespasser, and he wanted to leave. Simon was home, with his family. Yeah, he was worried about Carl; he’d heard that Dylan tried strangling him, and that was awful. But he didn’t belong. He saw his clothes bundled up on the couch, slung over an armrest. Josh had moved to the living room, sharing a similar sense of uneasiness. He gathered his clothes, and cleared his throat.

“Hey, Josh?”

He looked at him.

“Is there a place I could,” he rustled with his hoodie. 

“Oh, yeah. There’s a bathroom on the second floor. A little before Carl’s room. I’m gonna stay here in case they need me.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

He walked back towards the large wooden staircase, but he could hear muffled animalistic screaming coming from behind the closed kitchen doors. He was curious, and so he leaned against them, straining to hear.

“Markus, he’s out of control. He almost gave Carl a second heart attack, lunging at him like that.”

“I know that, but what else are we supposed to do?”

“We can’t keep him here if it’s unsafe.”

“There’s nowhere else he can go, North. He’ll die.”

“He’ll die if we can’t get him to calm down! Can’t you sedate him again?”

“It only lasted a few minutes.”

“That might be worth it. Dylan, sweetheart, you’re alright. You’re safe here,” Simon cooed. “He’s not responding to me. I can’t do anything.”

Then there was a thud. “He’s unconscious.”

“Has anyone tried connecting with him?”

“Connor did, and managed to.”

“Is Connor still here?” North asked.

He felt himself tense, taking a step back. “Yes.”

“I wonder if I can soothe him that way. One of the kids I used to watch had reoccuring nightmares. He was human, but I might know a way I can turn his memories into something less scary.”

Androids had abilities, each in their own unique, special ways. Some more obvious than others; Markus could convert and force deviation on anyone. Nines, and like Connor could in the past, could scan a room and replay scenarios. And as he was explained, Simon had the ability of compassion. Forming a bond with children that none of the others could. 

Another step back and he progressed up the stairs. Kyle was at the end of the hall; his clothing was free of blue stains, but there was a healing crack down the center of his chest. He looked sluggish, but yet, he remained at his post, guarding Carl. 

Connor went inside the bathroom and stripped free of the grimy shirt and pants that felt like a glove. His hoodie was better. There was a hamper, and so Connor folded them neatly, and sat them on top. They didn’t belong to him to begin with. When he unlocked the door, Connor flinched. Kyle was standing there, eyes watching him.

“Carl would like to see you. He’s about to go to bed.”

“Uhm,” he scratched the back of his head. “How did he know I was here?”

“He heard someone walk up here, and asked who it was. I told him what you did tonight. Come,” he waved. So Connor followed him, stepping into the elder man’s bedroom. His curtains were closed, and he looked worse for wear; he knew Carl wasn’t in the best condition, but he didn’t expect to see him strapped up to a monitor. He didn't want to see Hank like this one day.

He coughed, and it was raspy. He put his hand to his mouth, heart rate spiking with a loud beep. 

“Would you like me to get you some water?” Carl nodded, and so he grabbed the empty glass from his nightstand, running it under the faucet in the bathroom. He handed it to him.

After he drank a few sips, Connor took it from him and set it down. “Thank you, son. Markus has told me all about you, as has Kyle.”

“Likewise,” he said with a half laugh. 

“This is a strange world we live in.” Carl was struggling to keep his eyes open, and Connor heard the floorboard creak. Kyle was moving behind him. He went over to grab his sheets, pulling them up around Carl. “You’re a very tough man, Connor. Your bravery is admirable. I know Markus is deeply appreciative of you.”

Connor felt butterflies in his stomach. “I’m just trying to do what I think is right.”

“That’s all any of us can do.”

There was a knock at his door. It was Markus. “There you are.”

“Carl needs to sleep now,” Kyle said. Connor nodded, taking his leave. He stood with Markus in the hallway.

“Is Dylan okay?”

“He’s passed out. Simon’s trying to work on him.” 

“If you have everything under control, I think I should probably get going. It’s late.”

“Can I give you a ride?”

“Oh, sure. I’d appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I can do for everything you’ve done for us. To Hank’s house?”

Connor clenched his jaw. “No.”

* * *

He dropped him off at the station. All the lights were off, except a distant glow from Gavin’s office. It seemed like everyone left by this point, and it was almost surprising Gavin was still here so late. It was half past one. Connor walked over to his desk and sat down, prepared to lean against it, fall asleep. Wait until Hank showed up in the morning for another awkward encounter. But, when he sat down, his chair made an ungodly screech. He cringed.

Gavin’s shadow moved, and he saw another stand. “What the fucks that? Someone here?”

“Let me handle it.”

“Hey, by all means. Be my guest.”

“Connor.” He looked at Nines. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi,” Nines pulled out Hank’s chair and rolled it over to him. He crossed his legs, folded his hands, and raised a brow. 

“Have you ever questioned your existence? Or, I guess what the whole point to life is?”

“Once. Interesting conversation starter.”

He sighed, but it sounded more like a whine. “I just want to cry, but I don’t think I can anymore. Literally. I’ve cried myself dry.”

“Connor, I’m not sure what’s happened tonight between you and Hank, or the prior situation you called me about, but I do know that it’s better not to be alone. So I’d like to show you the same compassion you showed me, if you’ll allow it.” He scooted closer, and he had one of his arms stretched out, but he seemed unsure of what he was doing. He pulled it back in. Was he trying to hug him…?

Connor would’ve laughed, maybe even teased him about it. But, he felt numb. He lowered his voice. “Nines, I hurt someone.”

“How badly?”

“Not bad enough that I regret it, but bad enough that I wish I could go back and stop myself.”

“You didn’t kill someone, did you?”

“No. ‘course not.”

Nines wheeled himself even closer. Again he seemed so hesitant about touching Connor, but he cupped his palm over his forehead. “You feel oddly warm.”

“I don’t feel too well.”

“I can tell. There’s enough room in his office for you. You could rest there.” He stood, putting Hank’s chair back in place. 

“An invitation to the wolves’ den? Lucky me.” Connor followed him. He wasn’t in the mood to argue anymore. “I’m assuming you’re going to be awake all night again?”

He smirked at him in response. “Did you remove your…”

“Shit, I forgot about that. I didn’t,” he pushed against his head, deeper, until he could get his nails under the adhesive, and he tugged the patch off. “We had to cover it.”

“We?”

“Markus and the others.”

“Ah, right.”

Gavin had his feet kicked up on his desk, but when he saw Connor he started laughing, so much that he hunched over. “Wow. Holy shit. What _are_ you wearing?” 

This is exactly why he didn’t want to change at work earlier. He didn’t need Gavin poking fun at him. “Ironic. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Gavin scoffed. “Oh shut up, tin can.” Then he turned to Nines. “Why’s this one here? Connor, go home.”

“Family problems,” Nines answered.

“ _Family problems_ ,” Gavin echoed. “What, dad kicked you out because you stopped paying rent?”

“Ha _ha_. He kicked me out because of… other reasons.”

“Hank finally came to his senses, huh. And those reasons being?”

Connor was about to reply with _‘none of your business_ ’ but Gavin cut him off, snorting. “—as if I care. Look, I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re working right now, on _your_ case.”

“It isn’t mine anymore.”

Nines interjected, calmly. “I don’t want him to be alone.”

“Well, tough luck. Connor’s a big boy, he—” Gavin cleared his throat, gesturing wildly. “ _It_ can go make friends with the toaster if it’s lonely.”

“He’s staying.”

He pointed at Nines sternly. “What did I tell you about talking back to me?”

“You’ve told me not to.”

“So why are you?”

There wasn’t an extra chair in the room, but he was too exhausted to grab one from somewhere else. He practically collapsed on himself, sliding down the wall, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest. 

“Unbelievable. Can’t believe this is my fucking life, surrounded by not one but _two_ of the world’s most annoying things ever created.”

“Keep complaining, maybe you’ll bore me enough I can finally sleep.” Connor closed his eyes. He heard Nines snort.

“That _wasn’t_ funny. Don’t encourage it.”

“Why do you talk to him like he’s a dog?”

“A dog would’ve made a better companion. What’s the point of being machine if you still have to sleep, anyways? Undefeatable, except by nap time.”

“I don’t know, Reed. I didn’t design myself.”

He couldn’t see him, but he could hear his eye roll. “Okay, shut up now. Gonna kick you out if you keep acting like a jackass.”

Connor ran his fingers across his lips, mimicking a zipper, and then threw away the key. He heard papers rustling and footsteps. 

“Go over these. I need them marked, filed and transferred to digital copies in ten minutes.”

“Alright,” Nines said.

Connor laughed.

“Something funny, lunchbox?”

He peeked one eye open. Gavin was glaring at him. “Yeah. It’s hilariously despicable how you treat him. He’s not your secretary, he’s your partner.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my goddamn job. You fucking androids think you know everything.”

“Gavin, why do you hate androids _so_ much?”

“That’s it. Out.”

Connor sat up. “Wh— I just asked a question.”

“And I told you to stop talking. Either go the fuck to sleep, or leave. Those’re your two options.” 

He glanced at Nines, and he gave him a look back— one that read something along the lines of ‘go with it’. He leaned his head against the wall, and before he knew it, he was knocked out. 

“Reed, stop,” Nines’ voice came in and out. He sounded far away. “You shouldn’t wake him.”

“Oh, yeah, because I’d much rather have it cluttering up the corner than get it back to its own home. You talk to it, I’m gonna go smoke.”

Connor blinked. Nines sat in front of him on his knees.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re tired, Connor.”

“It’s fine— you should be the one sleeping instead. What’s going on?”

“Reed let Hank know that you’re here.”

“Ugh, why is he bothering Hank. It’s late.”

“They’re both worried about you— I know Anderson is, for a fact. He was relieved to know you’re safe.”

“Gavin. Worried about someone other than himself,” Connor laughed, but Nines didn’t.

“He seemed concerned. He’s been talking to me ever since you fell asleep. This is the most I’ve spoken with him.”

“What did Hank say?”

“He’s still fucking pissed at you, needs some more time to cool off. But he didn’t kick you out. What a shame, right?” Gavin came back into the room, digging through his desk for a lighter. “If you’re gonna gossip about me, I suggest _whispering_ next time.”

“I need to go home,” he rubbed his face. 

“Call Connor a taxi,” Gavin directed to Nines.

“No— no more people. I can’t deal with another person tonight.”

“Then have fun walking home. How fars Hank live from here, coupla miles? You run fast, don’tcha?”

“You have a car.”

“I sure do.” 

Connor looked at him expectantly. 

“Jesus Christ. I’m not a chauffuer, and I ain’t a fucking babysitter either. Been nice enough to let you sleep in here.”

“If you’d rather me drive him—” Nines said, but Gavin cut him off. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“I’ll buy you a new shirt,” Connor offered.

“Holy fuck… _fine_ ,” he practically growled. “Meet me out front in six minutes. Don’t make me goddamn wait.”

* * *

He stood at the steps of Hank’s porch. There were still lights on inside; he could see the lamp on his nightstand turned on. He was dripping with trepidation. For some reason, this felt a lot harder than walking into the Cyberlife store.

He knocked. No answer. And so he tried again. He heard Sumo bark. He rang the doorbell next, pressing it down until Sumo began to howl. He could hear Hank reprimanding him, telling him to calm down and be quiet. There were footsteps inside, and they got closer. But the door still didn’t open.

“I know you’re there, Hank. Let me in. Please. I-I need you.”

The door opened, but cut short when a chain yanked it back. He could see a glimpse of his face. There were bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his hair, a soft grey, was brushed back.

“I know you’re mad at me, but you’re all I have.”

The door closed, and Connor felt his lips twitch. But then it opened a second later. Hank pulled him into a tight embrace. He smelled strongly of whiskey. 

“I’m not mad at you, Con. I called Kathy for the first time in years and told her everything. And you know what she told me?”

He shook his head.

“Kids will be kids. You just gotta let them do what they're gonna do. I'm really fucking glad you're okay, Connor. Don’t _ever_ pull shit like that again." 

“I can’t promise.”

“I know you can’t, and that’s what worries me. Christ, I need a vacation after all this.” Hank pulled him inside. “It’s time for bed.”


	10. The Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen, Connor,” Hank began. Connor was so on edge it was driving him insane. He couldn’t keep still, feeling like he constantly had to burn off energy, move around in some form; fidget with his hands, bounce his leg. Too many questions unanswered from the night before, and now, Gavin’s threats were a main focus in his mind. Like he needed more to worry about.
> 
> “I know everything’s complete and utter shit right now.” Yeah. That was the understatement of the year. Hank sighed, running a hand through his hair. Connor tried to sit down on the hotel bed and not immediately stand back up. “But, just for today, let’s pretend like it isn’t. Okay? Today’s supposed to be your happy birthday celebration. Let’s pretend like we are. Maybe if we believe hard enough, it’ll come true.” 
> 
> “I don’t think I know how to pretend to be happy.”
> 
> “I’ll teach you.”

Connor’s knees were pressed against his chest, and he stared at this fake battery operated candle Hank had pulled out. The batteries must’ve been drained, because it was flickering, putting on a dramatic show of pretending to die before it would grow bright enough to make him squint, and then turn off again. It was driving him up a wall, but he didn’t prefer the alternative. It was still the middle of the night. He turned his head. It was raining out, water droplets aggressively plopping against the windows, racing in a competition that had no clear winner, no objective. He couldn’t see them, because he was sitting inside a pillow fort Hank had made for them, but he was _listening_ intently. A lot of people associate rain with a sense of calmness, maybe because there’s something romantic and relatable about the sky crying, or the melodic pitter patter that could soothe the fussiest baby into a deep sleep. 

Winter brought its own charm; when there was a fresh snowfall, it looked as if the world was coated in a glitter infused dose of powdered sugar, and Connor was sure building a snowman was fun. He didn’t know firsthand yet; he’d thought about asking Hank if they could go make one the next snowfall, maybe try skating too. He liked the rain more. At least, he thought he did. He never had an opinion before… before now. He only knew he wasn’t fond of being caught in a heavy shower, which had happened on more than one occasion with Michigan’s temperamental weather that had a mind of its own. He didn’t like clothes sticking tightly to his body. He did quite enjoy puddles though. Purposely stepping in them, kicking up water for his own enjoyment. 

He tried to relax his shoulders. Inhaling through his nostrils, he could _feel_ how cold the lingering air was as it entered his chest. The heater had gone off at some point during the night, but he didn’t want to move and adjust it. Hank was under a pile of blankets anyways, and they had Sumo, who was a hundred and seventy pound heating pad. The little hideaway they had was nice. Hank had grabbed a few chairs from the kitchen, pulled the cushions off the couch and stripped his bed. He felt safe in here… to an extent. Safe from everything that wasn’t right there with him; himself. His nails clawed at his knees, and he pulled on the fabric of his plaid pants. 

One of the most recent movies they’d watched together was _The_ _Wizard of Oz._ Not something they’d picked, but it was on and so Connor watched it anyways because he’d gotten in the habit of following these mundane rituals. Changing into comfortable pajamas every night even if he didn’t benefit from the comfort, hoard as many blankets as Hank allowed, watch television like the average mindless consumer. He hadn’t been paying full attention to the film at first, instead messing around with the DS Hank had given him (he was petting his little virtual golden retriever), until Dorthy found herself swept up in a tornado and thrown out in a foreign land. He felt a weird sense of… kinship to the characters. Because that’s the way his mind made him feel sometimes, when his thinking spiraled out of control and twisted and turned and spun at a million miles a millisecond. His thoughts were a tornado, and every negative comment someone had spat at him, that he’d had about _himself_ , got swept up in that wind. And before he knew it, he wasn’t in Detroit anymore. He too craved for more courage, for a heart, and to feel at peace, at home.

Every time he replayed the sound of that man’s bone crunching, he flinched. And it’s not like he was doing this on purpose, he wasn’t out to torture himself, not tonight. But he couldn’t _stop_. He physically fucking flinched and cringed so hard he wanted to yelp and kick his legs out. Like stepping on a crisp autumn leaf, it broke so easily. And he kept questioning what was going to happen with Dylan, if he’d lash out and attack Carl again. He really hoped Carl was okay. He seemed like a nice man, if Markus was any reflection of him, and he knew Markus would be devastated. He wanted to know if he’d permanently live with Markus, or if they’d find him a suitable parent that understood his struggles, which led him to theorizing about android adoption centers. He was sure there were more Dylans out there, more kids in the same exact situation he was in.

There was going to be a lot of drama in that house. It wasn’t meant for his eyes, but Connor saw the way Simon lit up when Markus ran towards him, that twinkle when he was the center of his attention. The flush of his cheeks when Markus held him. Yeah, he understood what that look meant, and he’d seen those behaviors reciprocated in North, the few times he’d caught them engrossed in each other at Jericho. Connor didn’t get the extent of how love felt, to be _in_ love, but he wasn’t that dense. 

Also he really hoped Gavin finally let Nines rest. He could see him slowing down, letting out little huffs between flipping through documents. He hoped Gavin didn’t scream at him the minute he got back to the station. The car ride to Hank’s was, well, a lot less awkward than Connor had imagined it to be. Or, no, maybe it _was_ awkward because it _wasn’t_ what he expected. Gavin was clearly only awake because of the Monster he nursed, so maybe this was a one-off thing of the faux energy getting to him. Or, maybe he was letting down one of his hundred walls he protected himself with. Whatever it was, he talked to Connor. Treated him with _human_ decency for the first time.

“ _Is Hank a good dad to you?”_ The question was abrupt, and sudden. Connor didn’t know where it’d came from, and he hadn’t expected Gavin to engage with him. And there was no aggression in his tone, only pure curiosity. Gavin waited for him to respond, glancing at him as Connor tried to find the right words.

Yeah. He was. Who the hell lets a stranger move into _their_ space, rearrange their shit and borrow their clothes, cuddle their dog. Spend money on them because they don’t have clothes, or basic things. 

_“It’s not like I have anything else to reference from, but, yes. Hank’s the most selfless person I’ve met.”_

_“Hm.”_

He still didn’t entirely know the backstory there; if Gavin and Hank had gotten off on the wrong foot, or if there was a deeper seated reasoning behind why they hated each other so much. So this was odd, because why would he want to know about Hank. Unless the question was self serving. He asked just that: _“Why’re you asking me about Hank?”_

 _“I don’t know. Because I’m,”_ Gavin had waved a hand. _“I’m jealous, I guess.”_ There it was. Jealousy. Connor wasn’t _overly_ familiar. _“Which is fuckin’ stupid to say, jealous over plastic. I know he really cares about you, and you both actually get along and don’t want to slit each other’s throats when you’re... forced to be in the same room together. It’s just_ — _the kinda shit I wish I could have with mine.”_

 _They’d_ started on the wrong page, Connor knew that. Maybe this was his chance, maybe not to have a heart to heart, but have a conversation that didn’t end in ‘fuck you’ for once. _“You’re not close with your father?”_

_“I’ll make it short for you. I was never the favorite son.”_

Connor felt the corner of his lips twitch, and he huffed a laugh under his breath. Gavin scowled at him. _“The fuck you laughing at, tin can? Think I can’t pull over and kick your ass out_ — _”_

 _“Cool it, Reed. I’m not laughing_ at _you. I didn’t know you have a brother, is all. That almost makes you seem like a normal person, and not just the workplace asshole.”_

His response had been delayed, and he seemed to nervously fidget, scratching the back of his head before speaking again. _“‘cause there’s no damn point talking about myself when no one wants to hear it.”_

 _“Well. I’m here.”_ He didn’t think they’d be friends, and he wouldn’t bet a dime that if Reed was given the chance to shoot him with no repercussions, he wouldn’t. But, maybe, they could find a similar wavelength. He hadn’t expected to find a friend in Nines either. “ _I’m listening.”_

Gavin sighed. _“They’re from Boston anyways, so it’s not like I can go and see them whenever I want. Really doesn’t fucking matter, shouldn’t of said anything. You ain’t my therapist.”_ And like that, he dropped the subject. Right as Connor thought maybe he’d be able to peek into his life, at least a little bit. _“You know any shit about Nines? If it’s got baggage, a secret hot android girl, a drunk dad of its own?”_

_“Gavin. I really wish you’d stop with those jokes. They’re not funny. Hank has an addiction, and he can’t always control it.”_

_“...sorry.”_ Huh. Connor was actually surprised. 

_“If you want to know more about him, why don’t you just, you know, ask him maybe, and stop calling him ‘it’? He_ wants _you to talk to him, I know that much.”_

 _“It,”_ Gavin huffed, _“Nines told you that?”_

_“Yeah. He’s told me you’re really goddamn frustrating because you treat him like he’s comparable to a paperweight or something.”_

_“...Nines isn’t a paperweight.”_

_“Then start with that.”_ And that was the extent of their conversation. He was starting to understand him better. He got it. Gavin didn’t want to be vulnerable; he didn’t understand _why_ he was such a self absorbed prick, and why he took out his anger on everyone else. But, he didn’t want to worry too much about it because it’s not like he could change him. Gavin wasn’t his friend, and he wasn’t his problem. What _was_ his problem, however, was that he desperately needed rest.

Nines was right, Connor definitely was running a fever, which meant his processor was overworked. But he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to close his eyes because he didn’t want to see nothingness, or be met with his child self. He tugged so hard on his pants that the fleece tore, and all he could see was exposed white and grey of his scratched up knees. Connor wanted to forget, he still really did. He knew what he’d told Hank; it was risky, because he wasn’t sure if there was a way to pick and choose what stayed, and what went in the trash bin, but each day was turning into a chore. He wanted to forget so fucking badly. The fight with Hank and how he felt so small and helpless, like a wounded animal with no voice, waiting for the next fatal strike. He was so scared Hank was lying, because it damn well _felt_ like he was pissed at him, exchanging few words only when he had to before ultimately passing out and leaving Connor to his own devices. Was there going to be a day when he pushed Hank’s buttons too far, and he’d actually cut him out of his life, or was this senseless paranoia? There were less consequences to pushing an android out of your life than your actual flesh and blood child.

His fingers brushed over where he knew light glew, and he kept them pressed there. And he pushed against that spot, harder until his eyes closed on their own. He wanted to forget and escape to a place that didn’t know his name. His mouth opened, and he could feel air against his hand, and it felt _warm_. He still didn’t pull away and the pressure against his exoskeleton grew. Until a box popped up. A diagnostic check ran, encrypted symbols and numbers flashing by. He was now met with a menu, and there was a list of options: [view scan results], [re-scan for abnormalities], [access files], [soft reset], [hard reset]— he heard a whiny yawn. The screen was still there, but in a corner of his vision. Sumo was looking up at him, his nose resting on top of Connor’s foot. Connor’s chin was trembling, but he smiled anyways at him.

“Hey bud,” he whispered, stroking through his shaggy hair. “You should go back to sleep.”

He huffed in response and bit the hem of his pants, so Connor shifted off the couch, finding a place next to him. Sumo settled down and Connor laid beside him, resting his head against Sumo’s chest. The dog licked at his hair. “You don’t know how good you have it. Sometimes, I wish I could be a dog, and not think so damn much.”

He maximized the screen again. The test showed he was displaying (critically) high levels of stress, the kind he should’ve been alerted about. But, there were no warnings now. He matched some of the underlying symptoms of post traumatic stress. He licked his lips. This was too damn much. He wouldn’t feel anxious and on edge every second of the day if he could just reach in there and pull out the bad stuff. Soft reset: that would only erase, or replace, files that were deemed corrupted. So if he could compile Amanda and the stress tests and the fight in one place, and damage the folder—

“Con,” Hank had rolled over. “Go to bed. Gotta be up soon.” He turned off the candle. 

His fingers rested under Sumo’s collar. He didn’t mean to wake Hank up, but sometimes, it was easier to talk to himself than keep it all in. He didn’t always realize how loud he was. “You’re still not mad at me?”

He yawned, shifting onto his side. “Still not mad. Just tired.”

“Okay,” he said quietly before he finally allowed himself to enter stasis. He’d deal with everything else in the morning. Give himself a couple of hours to think this over, at least.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hank threw a duffel bag, coupled with a much smaller suitcase, into the trunk before slamming it shut. He opened the door to the back and Sumo happily jumped in, albeit slow (and with Hank’s help). He stretched out, making himself at home, paws spread out across the seats as he panted eagerly. Connor was watching Hank, but he didn’t say anything. The sun was rising but still, there wasn’t much difference from the dark night brought. He did notice all the snow was gone, except a few hidden spots that were blocked by his car and the porch awning. He didn’t know why they were awake _so_ early; they’d usually wait to head to the station until at least ten. 

Hank rounded the car and his blues met his brown. “You gonna stand there ogling at me, or are you gonna get in so we can go?”

Connor slid in, and immediately his hand went to fiddle with the radio as Hank rubbed his own together, waiting for the heater to turn the car into a sauna. “Fuckin’ brisk in here,” Hank muttered to himself. Connor flicked through incoherent stations and some pop songs, and then he stopped:

 _“It’s Phil Thompson and we’re here reporting from Auburn Hills, where there seems to have been_ another _Cyberlife store breakin, despite their new enhanced security system_ . _That makes three this week,_ ” the audio was quite fuzzy, not better than any other station, but hearing the words ‘Auburn Hills’ made him want to fly to another planet. _“We still don’t have much information on the culprits, but we’re hearing that hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of product has been stolen, and one person was transported to the ER around three o’clock in the morning. We’re not sure how critical their condition is_ —”

Hank turned the dial, and everything went silent. He could hear the gravel bouncing under the tires, and he could see how tightly clenched Hank’s jaw was. Connor shrunk in his seat as they drove without any audible distraction, to, he didn’t know where still. They pulled into a driveway of a house unfamiliar to Connor. Two stories, but it was smaller than Hank’s place. And there was a basketball hoop above the garage. A few electric bikes in various bright colors were thrown around in the yard. He killed the engine.

“Stay here,” Hank said, holding up his finger. He went to get Sumo out when Connor saw a little kid bolting out of the house, wearing a far too big bathrobe and slippers, running past Hank entirely and towards the elderly pup. Sumo was nonetheless happy to see him and barked loudly. Chris stepped out moments later and Hank loitered on his doorstep, greeting him with a tired smile. So this must’ve been his family. Connor knew he had a son, but he’d never seen pictures.

He could pick out choice words, mostly friendly banter, but he didn’t need to eavesdrop. Didn’t matter anyways, because Hank soon disappeared inside with Sumo in tow. The car was still turned on to keep warm, so back to playing with the radio Connor went. It seemed they’d moved on from the breakin story to talk about a new _controversial_ restaurant opening up in town, with opportunities for androids that seeked work. They wouldn’t be paid as much as their human counterparts, but the offering was still there, they said, not that they could afford to buy any housing with that pay. He upturned his palm. Maybe it was old news on air, but their little stunt had made headlines _everywhere_. It was nationwide. Some anonymous comments questioned if it was Jericho back in action, or, according to more far-fetched theories, some believed it was Kamski attempting to recall the last of what belonged to him. Connor scoffed at that, _very_ loudly.

He leaned his head back. He didn’t know why Hank had bags packed, where the hell they were going, why Sumo was evidently staying with Chris. Hank told Connor to dress ‘normal’, which he didn’t know what he meant at first, until he practically scolded him for sliding into his uniform. What if this _was_ why they were out so early? Because of last night. Was he kicking out Connor, like he threatened? Were his heated words being backed by action? Were they leaving town because someone figured out it was him, and he was wanted? Was _he_ going to turn Connor in? He felt an earthquake ripple throughout his core. 

He wanted to call Nines and ask what was happening there, but when he pulled his name up, it said he was offline. So he must’ve finally gotten rest. That was one good thing, at least. He fiddled around in the pocket of his jacket, but all he found was lint. He didn’t have his coin with him. He sighed to himself and leaned against his palm. A few minutes later and Hank was back in the car, locking the doors and buckling himself in. He started to pull out of the driveway. 

“Sumo is staying with Chris?” Connor asked. He was very eager to talk to Hank, even if the sentiment wasn’t reciprocated. 

Connor had left the radio on a very distant sounding station, playing what he could only describe as bits and pieces of ‘cowboy’ music. Hank went to turn it off again, scratching his chin. “Mhm.”

“For how long?”

“Not very.”

Connor looked down, folding his hands together. He started tapping his foot, rustling against the papers beneath it. “Hank, where are we going?”

“Out of town.”

“Okay. Um, does this have to do with me?”

Hank sighed. “Yes and no. Well… yes, technically. But it’s probably not what you think— look, Con,” he adjusted the rearview mirror. “I called Jeffrey last night and said we were gonna be out of town for today ‘cause of personal family shit. He gets it, and I got his approval. Gotta go to the station for a few minutes to talk to him, but then we should be on our merry ways. I’m not,” he gestured vaguely, “turning you in, or some shit. If that’s what you’re worried about. Which, I think you are, by the way you can’t sit fucking still.”

Connor let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. “Where _are_ we going, then?”

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise,” then he added, “ _good_ surprise.”

“I don’t think I’m very keen on surprises.” 

“Too bad.”

Connor glanced at a school bus passing them, then cleared his throat. “How’s Kathy? You said you talked to her last night.”

“Oh. Yeah,” he put on his blinkers, turning down a street. “She seems to be doing _just_ fine. Getting remarried soon.”

“Does that bother you?”

“I don’t know, should it?”

“I’m assuming you still care about her in some aspect, or another.”

His eyes seemed to bounce around. “We separated for good reasons. The fact is, she moved on, and so should I. Well, I _have_ , I guess.” He pulled into their regular spot and parked. Gavin’s car was still there, untouched. “Okay, I don’t know if he’s here yet, so it might take more than a few minutes. But, it shouldn’t be _too_ long. Guess we’re gonna have some company, anyways. Wonder if the other one’s still here.”

“He is. It’s not like he has anywhere else to go.”

“Right,” Hank pivoted himself to get a better look at Connor. “What’s up with you and Nines? You all buddy buddy with him now?”

“...we’re friends. I think.”

“You think? Is that because you’re still unsure on your part, or you think _he_ doesn’t like you?”

“It’s a me still feeling uncomfortable around him thing that _I_ need to work on. Because I know he needs a friend right now. Oh, on a more unrelated, sort of, note. Gavin asked about you last night, when we were driving.”

“Oh, yeah? Asked what?”

“If you’re a good dad.”

“You told him yes, right?” A smile cracked on Hank’s face, replicated on Connor’s own. He laughed under his breath.

“Of course.”

“Come on,” Hank opened the door. “The sooner we get this over with, the closer we are to sweet, sweet vacation.”

Where Connor’s eyes went to straight off the bat: Gavin’s office. The door was wide open, and he couldn’t see either of them in there. Tina was at her desk, seemingly occupied by Wilson who was animatedly talking with his hands. And, thankfully, Fowler was already there too. Must be nice being a morning person. Hank gave him a gentle pat on the back.

“Five minutes, promise. Don’t get in any trouble while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try my best.”

He knew where they must’ve been. Same place he always found Gavin if he wasn’t in his office, because for some reason, despite everyone’s claims, it felt like he was never getting any actual real work done. And sure enough, Gavin was sitting exactly where Connor had visually imagined; his feet kicked up on a table, which was disgusting and made him _glad_ he didn’t eat, chair leaned back, and a styrofoam cup in hand. Next to him was Nines. His head was down on the table, but, Gavin wasn’t wearing his typical outdated leather jacket that looked like a prop out of _Heathers_ (Hank loved that musical, not that he’d ever admit it).

He noticed brown peeking out from under Nines’ crossed arms. He was using his jacket like a pillow. Gavin took another sip of his drink before looking up at Connor from his phone. First eye roll of the day and Connor hadn’t even been there for a solid minute.

“Is today casual dress day or something?”

“ _No_. Hank and I are going somewhere.”

“Somewhere.”

“Vacation.” He took a seat across from them, silently lifting the chair. Gavin made this weird scowl that just looked plain ugly. One thing Connor noticed was the tone Gavin used. He spoke low, trying his best not to wake up Nines. Gavin obviously had picked favorites between the two.

He still felt like he had to be on the tip of his toes around Gavin. They weren’t friendly. Last night was probably a one off thing. But, he just didn’t want to sit alone right now. He must’ve been really desperate if Gavin’s company was better than silence. 

“You’re going on _vacation_. Huh. And to think you couldn’t get any more useless...”

“Everyone needs a break once in a while to recharge their batteries, Reed.”

“And not everyone runs on batteries, _Connor_.” He continued scrolling across his screen with his thumb. “So I’m guessing you’re just gonna sit here and stare at me ‘til Anderson comes back to get you, yeah?”

“I don’t really have anything else to do. And your partner isn’t awake.” There was a rack of magazines, some digital and some paper, beside the coffee station. He noticed the pot was still steaming. He wasn’t in a reading mood right now.

“Hm.”

“Or,” he lightly tapped his fingers against the table, “you could try talking to me, as well.”

Gavin clicked his tongue. “There’s not a _single_ dimension out there where I’d ever want to talk to you.”

“Actually, quite the contrary. According to Hugh Everett’s theory that every possible outcome of reality is existent, there’s a world where we’d, hypothetically, be best friends.”

“...don’t ever use the words ‘we’ and ‘best friends’ in a sentence. Ever. Again.”

"I'm certain you're not doing anything more important on your phone right now."

"I am, actually. I’m talkin’ to someone."

"Who?"

"...someone."

“I can see the word ‘Google’ reflected in your eyes.”

Gavin set down his phone, running his hands through his hair, muttering out the side of his mouth. “Unreal.”

“I’ve been wondering... is there a reason you’re the only one of us with an office, besides Fowler?”

“Uh, yeah,” he chuckled to himself. “There was only one and I wouldn’t stop complaining until he gave it to me.”

“Fowler picks favorites as well. That’s interesting.”

Gavin quirked a brow. “Whaddya mean ‘as well’?”

“I think it’s obvious which one of us you prefer,” Connor glanced at Nines. Gavin’s reaction was… it was quite a visible change; he first started blinking, a lot, and then his teeth clenched, and he kept also looking at Nines. It seemed like his complexion changed, ever so slightly. Before he had a chance to butt in, Connor continued, “did you talk to him?”

“That— doesn’t concern you anymore.”

Connor huffed. “I’m only asking because it seemed like you needed someone else to hear you.” Gavin’s face had softened, but then he narrowed his eyes again before speaking.

“I don’t need anyone anymore. Especially not _you_.” He shook his head. “Different subject now. You see all that shit about the Cyberlife store? Happened late last night. Pretty wild someone would steal a buncha fuckin’ androids, but, I guess the markets pretty good. Wonder how much you could get for spare android parts. You think there’s an android black market out there?” Connor wasn’t paying close attention to him anymore. Yeah, the news had spread like wildfire, and surely that wasn’t directed _at_ him, because Nines wouldn’t have blabbed to Gavin. Friends didn’t betray each other. He noticed the TV was on, but muted. “Dipshit, I’m talking to you. You _said_ you wanted to talk.”

“They finally got that thing fixed?”

“Uh, yeah. Yesterday.”

He wanted to see if he could still do this; with a blink, the volume increased. But Gavin left no time between his reaction, and he quickly jumped to his feet to turn it down. “ _Dumbass_. Cut that shit out. Nines just got to sleep,” he hissed.

“So now you care if he sleeps or not. You’re not going _soft_ on him, are you?”

His fingers furrowed into the shoulders of Connor’s jacket and he messily dragged him upright, his shoes skidding against linoleum. Their combined instinct was to check on Nines, and once Gavin realized he was still passed out, he smacked Connor upside the head. His nose wrinkled.

“Oh, shut the fuck up. _I_ couldn’t get shit done because Nines kept complaining about being ‘sleepy’. Don’t you fucking say I’m going soft again, or you’ll get something a lot worse than a smack—”

“Wow, Reed. You get so defensive, don’t you? I bet you were one of those bullies that gave people black eyes for their lunch money. I saw that in a movie.” 

Gavin blinked rapidly, his mouth opening. “Where the hell’s Hank?”

“Talking with Fowler.”

“I’m done being nice with you.”

“ _This_ is you being nice?”

“Yeah. It is. You really like to play games, huh. Yeah, I got a game we can play too.” Gavin went over to the coffee machine to refill his cup. “Tell me. Why _were_ you here last night? And,” he snorted, “don’t give me that bullshit Anderson excuse. I overheard you and Nines. Who’d you hurt, Connor?”

He stiffened. Oh. So he _did_ know. Well, shit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You sure as fuck do. I wasn’t going to bring it up, not today, but you’re just getting on my goddamn nerves.” He took a sip. “I know that was you last night. The whole Cyberlife breakin thing. The timing, it’s all too perfect. And, moron, before you leave a crime scene, you’re supposed to wipe the blood _off_ first.”

“Nine—”

Gavin clasped his hand over his mouth, pushing him flat against a wall. He looked over his shoulder again. The way Gavin looked at him was full of pure venom. “Nuh uh. Told you, Nines just got to sleep. Really gonna wake your friend up because you can’t fight your fights alone? _Poor_ Connor, being held accountable for once.” 

He pushed his fingers aside. “What do you want, Reed? You want to turn me in?”

“No, no. Where would be the fun in that? I have something better in mind.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled down to a news article before holding it close enough that Connor went cross eyed. “There were two android related things yesterday, and I know you know about both of them.” There was a picture of Dylan with a sizable cash reward under the picture in bold lettering. “This kid. Where is it?”

“...you’re going to blackmail me.” Why did he even come in here. Why was he _so_ goddamn stupid. Evil people don’t change overnight, if they change at all. Who was he kidding. Humans rarely ever changed.

“Maybe. Depends how cooperative you are. There’s a big ass prize if anyone knows information about it and its whereabouts, and I _really_ need that cash. So you’re gonna tell me where it is, or your life's about to get flipped upside down.”

“You don’t have any proof that was me.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Gavin peeked at Nines again, smiling devilishly. “But I’m sure Nines does. You’re like, what, besties now? Nines called you last night. I’m not that fucking oblivious, Connor. I only act like I'm ignoring everyone."

On one hand, Nines didn’t know that much— he’d never explicitly said _what_ they were doing, never said _who_ he’d hurt. But, he knew he’d been with Markus. He knew they’d had a spare body to upload Simon into. And if they tracked down Markus and traced Simon’s serial number...

“Gavin,” his voice broke, “he’s just a kid. They’ll _kill_ him.”

“So you _do_ know where it is. That’s very interesting,” Gavin looked pleased with himself. “And I was just taking a wild guess, but of course you’d admit it because all you fucking androids are the same. So goddamn naive. Tell me, Connor. You really value some piece of scrap metal more than your own freedom? More than Hank’s?”

Connor didn’t say anything. So Gavin drew in closer, spitting against his chin. “I’m not fucking lying, lunchbox. If you don’t tell me where it is within the next sixty seconds, I’m hauling Nines into Fowler’s office and we’re _going_ to search his memory. So, it’s your move.”

Was everything just for naught? He’d pinpointed himself in this tight glass box because of the guilt that ate at him. He’d put this awkward tense air between him and Hank because he couldn’t see another android be tossed aside like yesterday’s garbage. And now Gavin was putting him in this spot where basically, all of his prior anxieties and heartbreak from the day before meant diddly squat. He couldn’t do this to Hank. He didn’t want to do this to _himself_.

“Forty seconds.”

“Reed, you need to give me a moment to think. I have to call someone.”

“Thirty five. Clocks ticking.”

Of course they had to have the news on. And of _course_ , the first time he looked back at the small screen, they had to show a picture of Dylan and his family (family should’ve been in quotes, but they were making Dylan out to be this deranged, broken android, sparing the details of deception). 

“Fuck,” Connor hissed.

**Calling [Markus…]**

Seeing his image as he waited for him to answer only filled with him a sharp shame. And when he did pick up, oh, he sounded far too chipper.

 _Connor!_ _I was about to call you myself. Simon’s been able to keep Dylan in a stable place._

 _Ma_ —

 _He’s been reading stories to him all morning_ . _I think he’s starting to see Simon as a sort of, father figure, maybe?_

 _Mark_ —

 _He’s doing alright. All of us are. Everything’s going to be_ okay—

_Markus, they know we have him._

_They… the police?_

_Yeah. Someone I work with. There’s a huge bounty out for him. They’re coming. We can’t hide him anymore._

_How’d_ — _I’m sorry, what?_

 _I don’t know what to do. My coworker, I-I can’t stop him. He has evidence that we were the ones that broke into Cyberlife. If I don’t tell him where Dylan is, he’s going to get us_ all _arrested._

_Do they know he’s with us?_

_No. He only knows that I’ve had contact with him._

“Ten.”

_You need to take him somewhere. They’re going to kill you, all of you, if they find him at Carl’s. Carl could even get arrested._

_Where am I supposed to take him, Connor? He’s one of us. We can’t abandon him. Both North and Simon have grown really attached._

_Far from there. Anywhere. The woods? Or, drop him off downtown?_

“Eight seconds. But, hey, you can just stand there if you want. Fine by me.”

 _I’m running out of time. Markus, I_ need _you to do this. Everythings going to be for nothing if you don’t. Do you want Simon dead again? I… I can’t do this to Hank._

_There’s a park not too far from here. I’ll send you the coordinates._

_Take him there._

_Connor, I can’t believe you._

_I_ —

_I’ll let you know when we get there._

And then he hung up.

“Two. One.”

“All right! He’s at a park thirteen miles from here. Give me your phone and I’ll put in the address.” So Gavin handed him his phone, and he typed it in. “He’s been… hiding in the android housing since last night, but they said he ran away this morning. Someone was able to track him and get his coordinates. They might’ve changed his hair color and given him new clothes by now, I don’t know. But he responds to Dylan.”

“Who’s they?”

“New Jericho. The androids downtown. Who I called.”

Gavin glanced at his phone. “You better not be fucking lying. If I get there and there’s no kid, that’s it. I’ll keep up my end of the bargain as long as you do.”

“I wasn’t programmed to lie,” he lied.

“Yeah, I don’t trust you. You’ve been around Anderson too much.” Then he went back to his earlier position, stretching his legs out. Acting like nothing happened. 

And just like that, he felt like he was resorting back to his old ways. Mistrusting those who had faith in him only to look out for his own self. He wanted to sprint to Hank.

“Smart move, Connor. Why’d you do it? Don’t tell me you’re actually in it for the profit. Stomach still hurts from laughing earlier.”

“Uhm… no. We— we set them free.”

“Huh. That’s even more hilarious,” Gavin snorted, returning to scrolling down his phone. “You really still believing that lie that androids can be free?’

Tina walked in, not nearly as sluggish as either of them. Connor patted the wrinkles out of his jacket as she nodded at both of them.

“Morning, boys.” Gavin scoffed when she said that. “You’re here early.”

“ _Morning_ T. Nines and I’ve been here all night.”

“Hard workers,” she walked past Connor to pour herself a matching cup of coffee. But he kept his head low, murmured a faint “ _bye Tina_ ” before he rushed out of the room like a fire was lit under his ass. Hank was at their desk, putting a folder away in a drawer, and so that’s where he beelined. He tugged on his sleeve, hard enough to jostle the older man’s entire person.

“We need to _go_.”

“Jesus Christ, Connor, what’d I tell you about tugging on me? Shit, you look pale as a ghost.”

“Hank, please. I feel like I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”

“Con,” he pushed him to sit down. Connor was bouncing in his seat, watching Gavin from the corner of his eye as he left the breakroom. Hank waved his hand, getting his attention. “Kid. Is Gavin being an asshole again? ‘cause if he’s harassing you, that’s not okay.”

“I don’t want to talk about it here,” he lowered his voice.

“I’d really like it if you told me.”

Connor shook his head. “I don’t want anyone else hearing. They’re listening. It’s not safe.”

Hank cocked his head, then he cupped a hand over his mouth. “Is it about the...?”

Connor shook his head.

“...is it, y’know. Kid.”

“Yeah. Hit the nail right on the head. Gavin’s about to go fucking get him and turn him in, and they’re gonna… they’re gonna kill him Hank, they’re— I didn’t have a choice.”

“Okay, let’s go. We need to get on the highway or we’re gonna run into traffic soon. We can talk in the car. This is exactly why I told you not to get involved in this shit.”

Connor looked up at the ceiling, then back at Hank’s desk. “What was that folder?”

“Something we gotta look into tomorrow.”

“A new case?”

“Yep. Worry about it later. One thing at a time.”

  
  


* * *

“So, as I understand it, he said unless you told him where Dylan is, he was going to turn you in? Even though he has _no_ concrete evidence you were involved in breaking into the Cyberlife store— no facts backing up that you even _know_ this kid.”

“I called Nines last night when we were rebooting Simon because I didn’t know what else to do. If he probed his memory in front of Fowler, they’d know enough to piece it together. I told him I hurt someone, he— I should’ve been more careful, but I didn’t think Gavin would stoop this low.”

“That’s mistake number one right there.”

“I told Markus he needed to get rid of him. If they find him at Carl’s, they could all be held accountable for protecting him, and that’s… too many deaths to think about.”

“Who’s to say they won’t probe this kid’s mind, though?”

“They’re not going to do that, Hank. They have proof he murdered three people. They’re going to shoot him on site and throw his body in the dump. Him being probed is the least of our worries. I never should’ve agreed to help them.”

“I don’t want to say I told you so, but…”

Hank flicked on his blinkers. The thing about most of the larger inner city highways was the pollution of self driving cars. One lane if you wanted to drive for yourself, and five for these speeding death traps (they were actually quite safe, but after Connor witnessed Kara almost get squashed like a fruit fly by one, they made him a little cautious, to be frank). Once you were on the highway, that was basically it. You stayed on it until you reached your destination. 

“You told me, and I didn’t listen. Everytime I try to do anything good, people get hurt.”

“Kid. You know where I stand on him being killed. It’s fucking digusting, and no, he doesn’t deserve instant death. But my opinion hasn’t changed. Protecting him _isn’t_ the right thing either.”

“But now he doesn’t have a choice. He made one stupid mistake, and now he has to pay for it with his life.”

“One giant massive fucking mistake that invovled the lives of three _humans_.”

“It doesn’t matter if he killed anybody, this isn’t goddamn fair how _we’re_ treated! And now it’s— he’s going to die because of me. I can’t.”

A crack, split down the center of the earth, and soon, lava comes spewing out. Connor was like a volcano that everyone knew would erupt someday but no one bothered to evacuate the city. The perfect, beautiful world he’d created was consumed by natural disasters and there was a dark cloud looming over the unnaturally clear skies. 

He ran through their house, and Hank was banging opposite side of his bedroom door. He tore every poster off the wall and ripped the laminated papers to shreds as he wailed. Sheets were thrown around over lamps and dressers like a rowdy grad party. In reality, each bang was from his own fist, colliding with his cheek, his face, his thigh. Anywhere he could hit. And the wailing was a backtrack provided by none other than Hank. 

But, trashing his room was a more desirable way to see this scenario of his mental state collapsing. He ripped a pillow in half and feathers danced through the air like graceful ballerinas escaping their constraints. 

“ _Connor_. Stop it. Right this fucking second.”

“Why do I deserve to be safe and happy when he’s about to fucking die?” 

He dragged his fingers down the length of his face, smudging blue everywhere he touched, licking the underside of his palm. He was so used to seeing spilled thirium that it didn’t phase him anymore. 

“Connor, fuck.” Hank had one hand off the wheel, pawing for Connor’s wrist, but he couldn’t hold him down. Connor pulled away from him, and the scratching and hitting and self destruction didn’t stop there.

“CONNOR, STOP.” He yelled. “Oh my God, shit. Where the hell do I pull over?” Hank frantically looked around until he found an exit he could pull onto. They were spat out onto the side of some road, but Hank didn’t care. He nearly pulled them into a ditch so he could get purchase on both of Connor’s arms, squeezing him until he sat still. Connor was panting. “That’s _enough_. It’s not the end of the goddamn world. Okay? Nothing in life is fair. And yeah, it breaks my heart too to think about a kid dying, human or android. But _you_ need to keep your shit together. The case Jeff just assigned us is going to end with a lot of death, and hard choices. You can’t fucking kill yourself every time something doesn’t go perfect. That’s _not_ how life works.” Hank shut his eyes. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this shit again.”

“It’s a hard promise to keep.”

“I never said I thought it’d be easy.” He dug around for the last pack of wet wipes and dropped them on his lap. “Can I trust you to clean yourself up?”

“...yes.”

Hank rested his forehead against the steering wheel as Connor worked his way through the entire pack, shoving the used wipes in the cupholder. “I’m not trying to minimize your pain. This is hard for you. It’s hard for me to _see_ you like this. You need to just take a deep breath and tell yourself it’s gonna be okay,” the pain in Hank’s eyes resonated louder than anything Connor was feeling internally. “Even if it’s not. Do it with me. We’re gonna breathe together.” Hank breathed deeply, and so Connor mimicked him. Then he exhaled. “That’s good. Good boy.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around, grabbing the blanket he had Sumo lay on. He threw it on his lap, brown hairs flying everywhere. “Gonna be driving for another four hours, so I want you to rest.”

“I’m not tired anymore.”

“I don’t care. Shut your eyes and force yourself to sleep.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. He started the engine back up, dust picking up as his tires screeched. “Today was supposed to be your fun and happy birthday celebration. But, it seems like we just can’t catch a break, can we?”

Connor curled up in the blanket. “I guess not.”

**Message from [Markus]**

**Markus** : _Dylan has been dropped off. We left right as your friend showed up._

_The guy in the white jacket?_

**Markus** : _The brown haired human._

_He’s not a friend._

**Markus** _: Apparently._

Connor shifted in his seat, tugging the shag blanket closer to his face. Hank’s GPS was hooked up the speakers, so the announcement that they were five minutes away from their final destination was a little startling. But, at least they were here— Connor still didn’t know what _here_ was. He didn’t remember closing his eyes. They were surrounded by tall buildings, and not the kind he’d grown used to in Detroit. These skyscrapers had something more classic about them, like they still showed a bit of history, instead of the flashy billboards that attacked nearly every large building downtown. A rich architecture with designs hand sculpted into brick.

“Hey,” Hank sounded gruff. He reached over to ruffle Connor’s hair. “Perfect timing.”

“Where are we?”

“We’re uh… welcome to Chicago, Con. You said you’ve never been out of Michigan. California or something would’ve been _nicer_ this time of the year, but, we don’t really have the time to fly right now.” 

Hank pulled into the valet parking of a hotel, popping the trunk. They were under an awning that was adorned with lights. The building was as tall as all the rest, and from what he could see, the lobby looked rather fancy. Hank got himself out and slung the strap of the duffel bag over Connor’s shoulder as he lifted the suitcase. An android in a bellhop uniform approached them, unnerving smile on his face.

“Good afternoon. Are you checking in?”

Hank gave Connor a quick glance, who still had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and definitely didn’t look like he belonged at some five star hotel, before nodding. “We are.”

He gestured behind himself. “Right this way. Someone will check you in, and I’ll get your car parked for you.”

“Thanks,” Hank said as the android nodded. Hank walked inside and Connor followed right behind. The lobby was modern, but still upheld a regal standard. Paintings with ornate golden frames and a swirled marble flooring, a crystal chandelier as a centerpiece. There was a sitting area, pristine white couches surrounding a large electric fireplace with a flat screen above it. Connor didn’t care about any of that though, because once he noticed they had a rather large fish tank, that’s all he could think about. 

He hunched over, watching the fish swim around, their multichrome scales catching light beautifully. You know, he’d never tried swimming himself before. He knew he could, but he’d never been thrown in a situation where it was sink or swim (in a literal sense, at least). It seemed peaceful, swimming around in a tank that was cleaned for you, that you didn’t have to pay rent on. Being taken care of because someone offered you their unconditional kindness… maybe he could relate.

He caught Hank’s reflection in the glass. And so Connor said quietly, “can we get one?”

“You want a _fish_? We already have a pet.”

“Sumo’s _your_ dog.”

“He’s our dog.”

“Now. But, you’ve been with him since he was a baby. I’ve never had a pet of my own.”

Hank hung his head. “ _Maybe_. If you take care of it.”

“I will.”

“We’ll see.”

They wandered over to an elevator, waiting until it chirped a loud ‘ding’ and stepped on. Hank pressed the button for the sixtieth floor. Elevator music— Cyberlife played a similar smooth jazz in their elevators. Connor was never a fan.

“Hank, this place seems… really expensive.”

“It’s not that bad for one night.”

“It’s bad enough to spend all this on _me._ ”

“Connor,” Hank raised a hand. “It’s my money, let me spend it how I want to. We’re _fine_. I have enough security that we’d be okay even if we did get fired. At least, for awhile.” Hank laughed to himself under his breath. “But if you’re so worried about money, you could find yourself a part time job.”

Connor couldn't tell if he was joking, or not. He didn't have time for a second job, even though having his own pocket change would be nice. Or, maybe it'd be ideal if he got paid for his current one. “And what would you suggest my ideal job be?”

“I dunno. Math tutor? One of your parents gotta be part calculator, right?”

“Oh, _shut_ up. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up, young man.”

The door opened right as Connor groaned. They walked down the looping hall until they found their room, Hank sliding the room key in front of the sensor. It buzzed, and the lock clicked.

Hank dropped the suitcase next to the closest bed before falling down himself, his arm resting over his eyes. “Con, I know everything’s pure shit right now. But, let’s pretend like it isn’t and have a good day. Okay? Can we try that?”

“Okay, Hank.” 

The room was a decent size, comparable to Hank’s own living room. There were two king sized beds and a view that overlooked Chicago; though, it was quite cloudy today. He didn’t want to get too close to the window, standing on the edge making him feel like he was about to go diving into traffic. He played with the curtains instead, closing them. 

Hank had pulled a variety of folded up brochures he’d taken from the lobby out of his pocket and threw them onto the bed. “Pick something for us to do.” 

Connor plucked one of the pamphlets and opened it. There was a list with about a hundred tourist attractions, ranging everywhere from ‘the world’s largest Starbucks’ to various history museums with guided tours. There were zoos, an amusement park an hours drive away, but it seemed they were closed for the season. 

“What’s the verdict?” 

Connor set the pamphlet down, shrugging with a shoulder. “I’ve haven't been to an aquarium.”

“Well, would you like to?”

“Maybe. Is that something _you_ want to do?”

Hank waved his hand. “It’s not about me today. It’s _your_ birthday we’re celebrating.”

“What if… for my birthday, I want you to pick out something for us to do as well?”

Hank peeked an eye open at him, and a gentle smile formed. “Sure. I’ll allow that. Hey, Con. Can you get me something from the suitcase?”

“What do you need?” He unzipped the bag. There wasn’t much packed in it, just pajamas and another change of clothes. But, at the top, he noticed a grey sweatshirt that was clearly wrapped around a package of sorts. 

“It’s the uh, sweatshirt. Should be at the top.”

“There’s something in it.”

“Bring me the whole thing.”

So he placed it down next to Hank, and he pushed himself to sit up. Hank cleared his throat. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“ _Connor_. Just close ‘em.”

With a huff, he obliged. They were closed.

“Now give me your hands.”

“What?”

“Stop asking questions and do what I say.”

He stretched out his hands and heard rustling of fabric being pushed around. Then he felt sharp corners; he was holding a box. Wasn’t too heavy, but there was something inside of it, not just a letter or small trinket. 

“You can look now.”

When he did look, he focused on Hank, before he nodded, and he glanced downwards. It was a small white box, and inside was a brand new polaroid camera. 

“But—”

“I know, I know. You said no more gifts. But, I thought this could be one you get a lot of use out of. Y’know, so you can follow Sumo around the house like a paparazzi, or when you’re hanging out with your friends.” _Friend_. Markus probably wanted nothing to do with Connor ever again. He assumed, as much.

“I didn't know they still made cameras like this.”

“Retro is in.” Hank was wearing the widest grin. “Open it.”

Connor slid the camera out. A light blue color and small, and he _was_ excited to have a camera, because memory only stored so much. And maybe it was the sentiment that was making him emotional, the thought of Hank walking into a store, maybe shopping for himself originally and thinking of Connor. Or, it could’ve been the fact that Hank was treating him like a human. Because androids had no need for cameras, not when their eyes basically were like cameras, harvesting every inch of detail they capture internally. But it was like the difference between books and reading them on a tablet; it was nicer to hold something, never worry about the file getting corrupted. He wanted to have photos of him and Hank he could keep with him; maybe he’d get a wallet, fill them with polaroids of Sumo and Hank so when he got stressed, he could look at them to calm down.

“There should be a case for it in there too.”

He ripped open the package of film and slid it into the camera. He turned it on, looking through the viewfinder. He’d never used a camera before, never needed to. So, of course, for his first subject, he pointed the little camera at Hank right as he was yawning. A flash went off, and Hank had the most disgruntled expression he’d ever seen. The photo slowly printed, and Connor couldn’t hold his chuckles back as it developed. 

“Oh, come on,” Hank huffed, reaching for the photo. “That’s _awful_.” Connor swiftly stretched his arm away.

He shoved it quickly into his pocket. “I love it.” 

“Just keep that one for yourself, alright. Don’t go around showing everyone tomorrow.”

“No promises, Hank.”

Hank massaged his temples. “We should probably get going before I pass out.”

“Do you need to rest?”

Hank shook his head. “Everything would be closed by the time I woke up, if I did.” Hank pushed himself up, moving to grab his jacket. But as he opened the door and flicked off the lights to their room, Connor looked over his shoulder.

“Hank,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“What’s going to happen, with the whole Cyberlife breakin? Did Fowler talk to you about it?”

“Uh, I don’t know, Con. No, he didn’t. But, I think he’s assigning Wilson and Ben to go check it out.” 

“What if it _does_ trace back to me?”

“We can’t worry ourselves about it right now. Fun today, stress tomorrow.” 

  
  


* * *

“ _This_ is where you wanted to go?”

Connor was looking straight up at a building that seemed like it had no ending, rocketing straight into the sky. It went up and up and up, higher than Mount Olympus (or at least, it was from his perspective, and no one ever said Connor wasn’t a _little_ dramatic). They were at the Willis Tower, standing outside its front revolving doors. Hank had said Connor should learn a bit more about Chicago, about its history. He’d asked him if he wanted to see something beautiful— in Connor’s mind, he thought sure, he’d been wanting to explore an art museum, exhibits about Earth’s (natural) history even. This wasn’t what he was imaging Hank to be talking about.

The worst part about it, this massive fucking building was _all_ windows. He could see elevators ascending into the clouds, see kids on those elevators cheerful and blissfully unaware of their impending doom, and as Hank pulled them inside, he could feel his feet cementing more and more to the ground. The lobby was nice, and he could smell a lingering scent of coffee— but that didn’t take away from what he knew was coming.

“Not a fan?” 

There were aged photographs framed on the walls of the building when it was first built, with the years ‘1970’, ‘2009’, and ‘2026’ captioned respectively. 

“I’m not the fondest of… heights.”

“An android scared of thunder _and_ heights, huh.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Hank. Don’t tease me.”

“Oh, this isn’t teasing. You haven’t even seen teasing yet. You’ll be fine, Con. Don’t worry. They wouldn’t let people up if it was dangerous.”

“Hank, the building was constructed in 1970. I don’t know how _safe_ that is.”

“And I was made thirteen years later. Still haven’t collapsed yet.”

People were piling into an elevator. A woman— a human, which was shocking— was dressed in a pristine uniform, holding the door open and gesturing at them. “Come right in, we still have space. Don’t be shy.” 

They stepped in as the doors closed. There was another family behind them; a mother, and, he assumed, her two daughters. A button dinged and they began moving. “Welcome to the Willis Tower, formerly known as the ‘Sears Tower’.” She spoke in a lifeless sort of way, sounding more rehearsed than a Hollywood blockbuster. “We will be reaching the hundred and third floor in about sixty seconds, which is thirteen hundred feet in the air.” 

How could she say all of this while smiling? He knew her smile was forced, but, he couldn’t even _think_ about smiling right now. Connor felt his breath hitch, and he took a miniscule step closer to Hank. The doors slid open and the crowd happily scurried off. Except Connor, who really didn’t want to move when he saw they were going to be surrounded by nothing but clear glass.

“Connor, c’mon. You gotta get off. We don’t have to stay long if you’re that scared.”

“I really don’t want to.”

“You are going to have to exit the elevator,” she said gently, but then she added, “I was terrified of heights before working here, too. But once you see the view, you’ll fall in love and forget why you were even scared in the first place.”

Hank raised his brow. “There’s a six year old with their face pushed against a window.”

“That’s just poor parenting.” Connor huffed and reluctantly stepped off, the doors closing behind him instantly. 

Hank patted his back. “Atta boy.”

They ventured closer to the windows, and, she was right. Connor could see _everything_. The sky wasn’t the clearest, but he could make out Lake Michigan. And each skyscraper beneath them, like daunting giants from a sidewalk looked like nothing more than a diorama. Hank had his hands shoved in his pockets, and he made these little hums of approval to himself as they kept walking. Then, he stopped in front of a little room that was made of nothing _but_ glass. No solid dark floor. It was only you and the streets right below. No one else had gone in. Connor wondered _why_.

Hank looked over his shoulder before stepping one foot into the space, smirking. Connor shook his head frantically. “No. No way.”

“You’ve never wanted to feel like you’re floating in thin air?” 

Connor peeked below Hank’s shoes. One crack and it was a straight drop down. Hell no. “Hank. I can’t even begin to express how much I _hate_ this.”

Hank took another step into the room. Then, he turned to face Connor, shrugging. “You’re gonna regret it if you let your fears hold you back.”

“Uhm, no. I’m pretty sure this is one thing I _won’t_ regret.”

“Look,” Hank tapped his foot against the floor. “It’s fine. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

“Hank, don’t,” Connor whined. 

Hank stretched out his arm. “I won’t let you fall. Trust me, kid.”

Connor puffed out his cheeks before finally accepting the offer, taking Hank’s hand. He pulled him inside and together, they shuffled over to a metal bar that hugged the furthest window. They were like beetles to the stars. Living in a castle in the sky in comparison to everyone below them, but nothing more than forgotten dots to the planets above them. Connor had one hand bracing the bar, the other clinging to Hank’s jacket with a vice grip. 

“Not so bad, is it.”

“It’s beautiful,” he replied in serenity. “That doesn’t mean I still don’t _hate_ it.”

Hank snorted. “Let’s get a picture, then I’ll stop torturing you,” he dug in his pocket, reaching for his phone. He opened up his camera, and Connor was abruptly met with his face in the worst angle before Hank figured out his positioning. “Can you _try_ smiling, for once?”

“I do smile.”

“Not in photos you don’t.”

So Connor attempted his best and widest smile he could muster as Hank took a succession of semi blurry photos. Connor pulled his new camera out of its case and handed it to Hank.

“And, why am I the one taking it?”

“You have longer arms.”

Hank glanced at his arms before biting his lip, obviously trying to keep himself from rolling his eyes. The camera flashed, and the picture printed. They both looked genuinely happy, but Hank more so. Connor was happy, that wasn’t a lie. But the stress and worry were still… overbearing. 

“I need a pen.”

“A pen? For what?”

“To date it.”

“They probably have one somewhere out there.”

Connor put the camera away and pinched the polaroid between his fingers. He was about to leave to go look for a pen when he glanced down, and instead clutched onto Hank’s side again. So he walked out with him until they were on an opaque surface. He looked around for a pen and found one attached to a chain. He selected a font, wanting something that resembled ‘handwriting’ more so than printed by a computer and dated the photo. Then Hank took the photo from him and scribbled something on the back of it before putting it in his wallet for safe keeping, not letting Connor see the message.

“I’m still not a fan of… this,” he gestured around them. “But, thank you, Hank. For bringing us here, to Chicago.”

“‘Course, kiddo.” Hank pushed Connor’s beanie back, kissing the top of his scalp. He ruffled his hair before pulling it maybe too far down his forehead, resting on top of his eyebrows. “Just happy you’re safe. Happy birthday. Er build day… whatever.”

* * *

  
  


“Are you _sure_ this is the right place?” Connor stared at the unmarked brick building. There were no windows, no signs, no anything other than a door that looked worse for wear. Hank had read about a place in Boystown that was apparently a bar specifically for androids. Humans could enter too, but they had to be accompanied by an android. It was a safe space for them. There seemed to be more android safe spaces in Chicago than there were in Detroit, but, Connor wasn’t familiar anyways. He’d only known about Jericho.

It was evening. They went to the aquarium, spent most of their day there, and Connor absolutely loved it. No heights, all solid surfaces, and he got to make friends with _penguins_. Who wouldn’t want to meet a group of adorable penguins? It wasn’t very busy, and by the time they stumbled across their enclosure, it was dinner. Connor was so infatuated with them (and vice versa, they kept waddling up to the glass, chirping at him), that they allowed one of the older rockhoppers out; his name was Diego, and Connor really wanted to bring him home. Hank said he couldn’t, Connor wanted to cry, but he didn’t.

“It’s what the address said.” 

“It doesn’t seem like anyone’s in there.”

They stood in front of the door. “Try knocking, I guess? Wouldn’t hurt.”

He did. Nothing happened, and he glanced at Hank. A moment later, the door was forced back and a woman slipped out; behind her, they could hear the distant thud of music pounding. She had her brunette hair pulled back, and her LED glew as bright as the moon. She looked a lot like a Traci model. 

“Show me,” she said bluntly, holding up her hand. Connor nodded, letting his skin fade. She then glanced at Hank. “This one’s with you?” 

“Yes.” She looked Hank up and down before stepping aside. They both mumbled their thanks, walking down a steep flight of stairs. It was dark, dark enough that only an android could make out his surroundings (and he could tell Hank was struggling, keeping close behind him as he led the way). The traversed down a long swaying hallway, and there were androids _everywhere_ ; glasses in their hands, leaning on each other. And as they reached the end of the hallway, they were assaulted by bright blue lighting. Everything was illuminated in a shade of cyan that was far too familiar.

And again, every which way he looked, it was android after android. Some dressed in uniform, plastic white accented with pinks and yellows. Others were in fancier looking dresses that Connor assumed weren’t bought off rack from a mall. There were servers with trays, carrying thirium drinks and meals. Hank wasn’t the only human there; there was a couple sitting in a booth, the human kissing down an androids neck. 

There was an empty table, so Connor trailed over there. Hank pulled out a menu for them both. “Would you look at that,” he slid Connor a smaller menu. “today’s your lucky day. Got an entire menu for thirium drinks. You don’t have to drink the same old boring shit anymore.”

Connor scratched the side of his neck. There were _so_ many, at least fifteen different mixes and combinations. The decision process made him antsy again. He’d never had to decide what he wanted to drink before, he just always knew if he needed something, it was thirium. Choices still scared him. “I don’t know… some of these have alcohol in them.”

“So you _can_ drink.”

“I mean, yes. Theoretically. In small amounts.”

Connor could see a grin forming across Hank’s face. “Treat yourself then.” 

They placed their orders, and Connor found himself still looking around. _This_ is what he’d imagined Jericho to be. Sure, they were in a building deep underground, protected from outsiders. But here, there were no labels, and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Here, in this moment, Connor could be himself without judgement, not worry about having to wear a hat, about the snarls directed his way. His ears perked at the sound of something metallic; Hank pulled Connor’s coin out of his pocket, setting it down on the table.

“I-I’ve been looking for that.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve been practicing.”

Connor stuttered a huff of air. “ _You’ve_ been practicing coin tricks?”

“Yep. I’m even better than you now.”

“Show me. Right now.”

“Alright.” Hank looked at the coin, positioning it atop his thumb. After a deep, quick breath, he attempted to toss it to his other hand, but it fell and bounced off the ground. He scurried to find it, pulling out his phone for extra light. Connor snorted, covering his mouth so he wouldn’t burst out laughing. “ _Okay_ , not tricks like _that_. But, magic.”

Connor tried to stifle his laughter, scratching at his chin. “Magic isn’t real.”

“It’s not, huh. Alright, nonbeliever.” Hank held the coin pinched between his fingers, folded them together, and then opened his hands. It was gone, like it’d disappeared in thin air. Connor blinked. 

“You put it up your sleeve.”

“I did not.”

“You so did too.”

“Then why,” he reached over to Connor and pinched his face, again holding the coin, “was it in your ear?”

His mouth opened, and then he chuckled, half amused. “I didn’t put that there.”

“Oh, I think you _did_.”

“Here you two are.” A margarita glass with salt along the rim was sat in front of Connor; there was a glowing ice cube that really lit up the liquids like a deep sea. Hank had his own food— his usual craving of burgers— but he didn’t have a matching beverage, only water.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Connor knocked his glass against Hank’s. He was almost hesitant to take a sip, but after a moment of coaxing, he did. Hank watched him, swirling around his straw.

“So… alcohol does what to you exactly?”

“You know,” he blinked, “I’m not exactly sure.”

“Great. Can’t wait to find out.”

He took another sip, his eyes wandering and landing on a tv behind the bar. Ah, so they were back to reporting about the breakin. Just fucking great— Connor wanted to turn away, turn his back to everyone and drown himself in his drink, just forget. But, no wait, they were at the Auburn Hills store, but they weren’t talking about what they’d done anymore. Protestors had shown up, dozens of them— both human and android. Demanding Cyberlife shut down sales of androids immediately, posters that read ‘Cyberlife kills’.

A man stepped in front of his field of vision. He was slowly approaching their table. Brown brushed back hair, eyes similar to Connor’s, and peeking out from under his jacket was a white uniform shirt. He could see the light glowing. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but, you’re Connor, right?”

Connor glanced at Hank before nodding slowly. “Y-yeah. I am.”

“I don’t think you remember me— there were thousands of us, so I don’t blame you. But you saved us. From the Cyberlife plant in Detroit. You saved my life, and I never got to thank you for it. I tried looking for you that night, but we thought you’d gotten taken away with Markus and the others.”

“Oh,” he felt his brows furrowing, and he was uncomfortable again, squirming in his seat. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I want to. We would’ve been sold off as merchandise or destroyed if it weren’t for you.”

“How’d you end up in Chicago?”

“The housing downtown was too full, so a couple of us found someone who’d be willing to drive a few lost androids to Chicago. There’s uh, more support for those like us here.” He looked over his shoulder, a man that looked to be the same model coming over to them (he’d been calling his name, Steven is what Connor thought he’d heard). His arms wrapped around his waist, his chin resting on his shoulder.

“Who’re your friends?”

“This is Connor.”

“Oh. _Oh_ , shit,” he straightened his back. “ _That_ Connor. Man, we owe our lives to you.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal…”

“You saved a lot of people that night, Con.” Hank said. “That’s something to celebrate.”

“Here, here. Can I buy you another drink?”

He gestured to Connor’s glass that was nearly empty. He nervously laughed under his breath. “Um. Sure.”

* * *

Waves were crashing against the columns of the seasonally decorated pier; there were big red bows tied to every lamp post, Christmas lights strung outside each building. Connor ran down with his arms out like a bird, chuckling in a giddy glee to himself, and himself only. The breeze was cool and content against his cheeks, and it rustled his hair around. He was dizzy, and spinning, felt like he’d already stepped onto a ride (which, he hadn’t, because the only ride there was a ferris wheel and he’d had enough of heights for one day).

Connor thought he’d only have one more drink— but that one turned into three, and then four, and by that point, he’d lost all control of his coordination. He just wanted to have a good time. Thank God Hank was there, because who else would’ve caught his glass when he knocked it off the table because he was flailing his hands too much when he spoke. Steven and his partner had sat down with them, spending the rest of dinner swapping stories, talking like they’d been friends for fifteen years and were just now finding the time to catch up.

Connor stumbled over his feet; he felt Hank steady him. “Why don’t we sit before you trip your ass into the ocean,”

“It’s not an ocean, Hank,” he stated matter-of-factly, wagging his finger. “It’s a lake. In fact, it’s the second largest Great Lake, spanning over twenty two thousand square miles.”

Hank squinted. “Alright. Sit the fuck down, I don’t need a geography lesson right now.”

Connor sat down, or, he tried to. He nearly missed the bench. He only started giggling louder. Hank rolled his eyes. “Con.”

“Hank.”

“Remind me to never let you drink again.”

“Noted.”

They looked up at the sky. The sky is polluted by the city lights, but he can still see some stars. Connor pointed above them. “Ursa Major. If you don’t mind the _history_ lesson, ursa major translates from the words ‘great bear’ in Latin. There’s hundreds of mythos throughout different cultures about its origins, but my favorite is the story told by ancient Finns. In Finland, it was thought the bear was lowered to earth in a golden basket, so anytime a bear was killed, its head was placed on a tree as a sort of offering, so its spirit could return back to the stars.”

“You know how many planets it has?”

“Thirteen. To be exact.”

“You think the people, or well, other _lifeforms_ , on those planets are doing the same exact thing as us right now? Looking up at the stars, telling stories just for fun?”

“Maybe. Or they could be looking down at us, laughing.” He sighed. “If you could go to space, would you?”

“Sure. Anything to get the hell away from here.” Hank patted Connor’s leg before squeezing his knee. “Just hang in there, kiddo. Things are gonna get better, eventually. Maybe not now, maybe not in the next five years. But, they will.” 

“Hank, maybe this is just the… I don’t know what it was called, the fucking alcohol, talking but,” he rested his head against Hank’s shoulder and closed his eyes. 

“But?”

“Now I’m too nervous to say it.”

“You’ve been rattling off trivia facts for the last half hour. You ain’t nervous.”

“I am now.”

“Don’t be. You can tell me anything.”

Connor held his breath. “Okay. Well, I uh— you, um. Everything sucks right now, like, really sucks. But you make it seem okay, most of the time. And, you are a great dad, and uhm. I do love you. From what you’ve told me about love— I still can’t feel it, but I know I do.”

Hank chuckled. “Long explanation for three words.”

“It’s a lot less scary that way.”

Hank cupped his hand over Connor’s. “Love you too, kiddo. Very much.”

Connor felt alive that night. The most alive he’d ever felt. And, he really didn’t want the feeling to fade.


	11. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one should be a sentient machine. Not Connor, not Nines. But they didn’t have to be human either. There had to be a happy medium, yeah? Connor was so worried about chasing after some label, trying to perfect the meaning of what it meant to be alive, placed the word ‘human’ on this polished pedestal, only growing mad at himself if he failed to meet his self constructed standards. He could be free and let go of the past if he stopped chasing after some unattainable goal and instead, was himself. But, as with anything, that was much easier said than done.

Connor was cocooned between layers of sheets; his eyes bursted open, wide and, shit, he felt like the room was spinning at a thousand miles a _second_. He tried to kick himself free, wriggle out, but it seemed like the more he struggled, the more he got sucked underneath the six blankets the hotel seemed to think was necessary for one bed. He ran to the bathroom, stumbling along the way, tripping over a suitcase. He threw open the toilet and clutched both sides of the bowl. He felt like actual hell— like he was _dying_. He was hotter than the furnace in their room. And he could hardly keep his eyes open anymore; everything felt so bright despite the lights being off. He tried to brace himself, and he coughed once, twice, before he was spilling over like a rampant waterfall. He wasn’t expecting to vomit _that_ much. 

He threw his head back, groaning, coughing more. And he fell against the tub, his body jumping like someone was poking him with a cattle prodder. He felt empty. And to make matters worse, that’s when he saw Hank standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking far too fucking smug.

“Not now, Hank. I feel like shit.”

“ _Awh,_ ” he pouted his lower lip. “Baby’s first hangover.”

Connor grasped his chin. His head was rocking side to side— except, it wasn’t. It only seemed like he was constantly bouncing around, but he was stagnant. “Hangover? I wouldn’t call it that.”

“What _would_ you call it then? Because, it seems to me like you have one.”

“I’d call it… what happens when I consume something I really shouldn’t. My body doesn’t have any other way to release foreign chemicals. Ugh, _stop_ moving.”

Hank softly laughed. “I’m _not_ , Con.”

“I feel like I’m going to be sick again. Or pass out. Or— both,” he buried his lips against his knuckles, gagging.

“This is what happens when you drink too much. For _anyone_.”

“Well, I’ve decided I hate it. Never again.”

“Hey, I agree with you on that one.” Hank flicked on the lights, and it made Connor’s eyes bug out; he blinked rapidly, groaning even louder than before, holding his hand up in a desperate attempt to block out those disgusting fluorescent bulbs. “ _Fuck_ , Hank, _don’t_.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have super sharp night vision, unlike you.” Hank turned on the sink, and the faucet ran and echoed for much longer in Connor’s skull than it did in reality. Each droplet of water made him more and more irritated by the second. Then, Hank flushed the toilet and bent down next to him, holding a dampened towel up to him.

He yanked the towel from Hank, muttering his thanks as he wiped off his mouth, his hands, tried blotting his shirt. Whatever, not like it was going to leave a permanent stain anyways. “If _this_ is how you feel, I don’t get how you can do this every night. This feels awful.”

“Yeah. Well. Feeling like _that_ is better than the alternative.”

“Pft. I highly doubt that,” his eyes wandered down Hank’s bare chest. He didn’t remember him taking off his shirt, but what caught him by surprise was the rather large tattoo he had. A cameo style portrait of a woman surrounded by roses; it was colored, some mudied browns and crimsons, although a bit faded. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

“Oh. Yeah, I have two,” Hank looked down, seemingly embarrassed. His cheeks turned a soft pink as he moved his arms to shield his body. “It was getting warm, and I just woke up because I heard you losing your shit.” He went back to the other room, and Connor pushed himself up to follow behind, still wobbling. He had to steady himself against the counter, blindly reaching to flick the lights off. When he stumbled back over to his bed, Hank was throwing on a shirt that was, at least, three sizes too big.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. I like it.”

“I’m not,” Hank let out a long breath, “ _embarrassed_. Just don’t think it’s appropriate to be shirtless around you, is all.”

Connor scratched the back of his head. “Okay… may I ask who it’s of?”

“My, uh, mother on her wedding day,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “She loved roses, always had paintings of them in her house. But her damn cat got into any flowers she had, so she never kept them around. I started this tradition when I was in college, every mother’s day, I’d go visit her and always surprise her with a fresh bouquet. She had to keep them way up high on her fridge, and they usually died, but she still loved them.”

“I’m assuming the portrait was based off an actual photo?”

Hank nodded. “Yeah. Even after dad left, she moved that one photo from house to house. She kept it in this nice frame, always by her bedside. It’s my favorite picture of her because she just… looked so happy.”

“You said your mom passed away, right?”

“Yep. Still not the easiest thing to talk about. More because I don’t want to accept that she’s gone.”

“Should I not ask what happened then?”

Hank stared at him, smirking. “I think you just did. Con, why do you always want to talk about the most serious shit when it’s fucking sleeptime?” 

His lips parted. He didn’t want to actually piss off Hank. Maybe he was being too nosy. He usually was. “I’m sorry, you—” But Hank waved him off. 

“Nah, I’m just giving you a hard time, kid. She was sick for a while. It started off as a cough, but it didn’t get any better. And, uh, that’s when she went in for a check-up and,” he rubbed his hands together, “she was a smoker, so she knew her risks. But, it was… more than a shock to find out she had lung cancer. She really loved Cole, so much. She spoiled him every chance she got. I’m just glad she went before he did.” And then he cleared his throat. “She would’ve really loved you too, you know.”

Connor felt the corner of his lips pull up. “You’d want to introduce me to your mom?”

“Of course I would. You’re my kid. I’d introduce you to Kathy too, if she wasn’t such a goddamn bitch.”

Connor fidgeted with his fingers. “You, uhm, you said you told Kathy about me too, yeah?”

“Mhm… And I’m guessing you want to know what she said.”

“I’m not _not_ curious.”

“She said it made sense why I love you. She didn’t understand at first, the whole android thing, and uh, she said some pretty hurtful shit. But, when I got her to listen, it seemed like she really was, for once. And the more I talked about you, the more she opened up to the idea that… it doesn’t matter what color you bleed, family is family. Before she hung up, these were her words, not mine. She said: ‘he sounds like a remarkable young man, capable of change’.”

“And do you _agree_ with that?” Connor wrinkled his nose.

“I’m not answering that.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “I do think about her, probably more often than I should. Kinda hard not to when you spend a quarter of your life with the same person. And, I,” he swallowed loudly.

“You miss her, Hank.”

“Somedays a lot more than others. We were a great pair, when we weren’t fucking fighting. Our fights weren’t fun or cute. They got ugly. Neighbors used to call the cops on us for noise complaints.”

“You don’t want to ever be friends with her again?”

“Even if we did become friends again, I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive her for all the shit she’s given me about Cole.”

Connor shifted around on his bed until he could free a blanket from under him. It was somewhat scratchy, but he wanted it around his body. “On the subject of moms… I feel like I lost my mother too. Is that insensitive to say?”

“That, uh,” his brows raised as he spoke, “person you had in your head?”

He nodded. “Amanda. She offered me guidance whenever I needed it most, and the way she spoke to me, initially anyways, was so calming and soothing. I know it was just manipulation, because if I expressed to her my worries about being compromised, she could basically rewire my thinking with the tone of her voice. Her nurturing consisted of backhanded compliments and petty lies. But, I was attached to her. I trusted her more than anyone.”

“No. Connor, she was a big part of your life. It’s okay to mourn. I still miss my dad, even though he was a lowlife scumbag. We as people aren’t perfect, okay. We hold onto toxic people because they make us feel something we can’t get anywhere else; doesn’t matter what _reason_ that may be, we still need them. And when they’re gone, you can’t help but still miss that fake, loving side that you grew attached to. It’s normal.”

“It makes me feel sick though, because I still struggle with wishing she wasn’t gone.”

“You don’t have to beat yourself up over it. Just feel what you’re feeling.”

“But, it scares me. Because if she was here, she wouldn’t let me speak to you. You say Kathy said nasty shit about me, but Amanada… she was so angry when she realized I cared more about you than our mission. That her prized prodige was slipping away from her grip.”

“That’s good it scares you, Con. That means you don’t want to go back to that place, being Cyberlife’s machine. Look, you can still miss _and_ resent her at the same time.”

“It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Emotions never do. You should know that by now.”

“Yeah…” Connor rubbed his chin. “Hank, can I ask you—”

“What, Connor? We’re already talking. Spit it out.” 

“When did you start drinking?”

“Gonna need to be more specific. Do you mean having a couple of beers to relax, or to the point I’d lose days at a time?”

“Both. Any of it. I want to understand you more, because fuck,” Connor pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead. The whole room was spiraling out of control. “If this feels this bad for _me_ , I can’t imagine how it feels for you.”

“Had my first sip of beer when I was thirteen because a buddy’s brother was ten years older than us. He was always throwing parties at their frat house, and he loved his brother. Never said no to him. But, high school was when it became more of a regular basis sort of thing. Dad always stashed some bourbons in his office, in the high up cabinets. That was his secret, something he wanted to hide from me _and_ my mom. I knew where he kept the key. I’d sneak drinks here and there, fill them up with water so he wouldn’t notice. And, yeah, normally that wouldn’t work, but I realized he kept them there more for emergencies, because out of the twenty bottles he had, most were untouched. 

“I knew some older kids that’d get me shit if I asked for it too. It wasn’t hard getting liquor when I wanted it. I didn’t think it was as bad as it is until Cole passed away. After he was gone, I— well, I lost my purpose. And the excuses piled up. _‘It helps with my social anxiety’_ I’d always say so people would fuck off and stop bothering me about it. I don’t have social anxiety.”

“Did you try getting help for it?”

“Kinda. If you consider bouncing around AA meetings and leaving halfway through as help. I’m a lot better now. I don’t drink as much as I used to.”

“Shit, Hank. You used to drink _more_?”

“That surprising, huh? Yeah. Everyone says they don’t get better until they reach their rock bottom. Well, I remember my rock bottom. This was a coupla years ago, and we had a Halloween party for everyone in our precinct. We never really did shit like that, for Christmas or whatever. And not everyone celebrated Christmas, so we thought Halloween would be more fun. Who doesn’t like Halloween. So we rented out a little back section at a restaurant and everyone showed up in half assed costumes, and we watched _The Exorcist_ and drank and carved pumpkins. We didn’t actually do it on Halloween, ‘cause y’know, we’re busy Halloween night. Get a lot a calls about pranks gone horribly wrong and black cats being found in dumpsters. 

“So it was October eleventh, and I only remember that date because it was the first year anniversary of Cole’s death. No one else knew that, and it’s not something I was gonna share anyways. I drank too much, and ran to throw up in a back alley when I noticed I was coughing up blood. Passed out and heard someone come outside. Thank God Gavin’s a chronic smoker or I probably would’ve fucking died that night. He drove me to the ER and stayed with me. Only nice thing I’ve seen him do since we met.”

Hearing his name made him flinch. By this point, Dylan was dead, not that Connor would accept it. And for fucking why, because Gavin was strapped on cash? He wanted to hurt Connor because he got on his nerves— but he was so selfish, because he had this weird… obsession with pissing off Connor, he got a kid murdered. He wasn’t innocent, he knew that, okay. But it wasn’t right, not when a human could get twenty years, and if an android ever tried to defend themselves, the only reasonable punishment was apparently death.

He tried to push those thoughts aside, distance himself from his worrying, and focus on his current conversation. He glanced at the nightstand, where he could make out the stack of polaroids he took. He was thankful he could talk to Hank like this. That Hank was willing to share this part of his life with him. He hadn’t been ready to before. 

“Wait. Cole passed away in 2035. You’re saying this happened only two years ago.”

“Mhm.”

“ _Hank_ …”

“I don’t need pity.”

“I’m not— this isn’t pity. I know you’ll never be able to move on from what happened, and I understand, I don’t get it. I’m not a parent, I never will be, and that was your baby. But, why do you still drink? You have a job you seem to really care about, and you’re _good_ at. A house of your own filled with albums and books you love. A handful of friends that like you. You have a dog that _adores_ you. And, you have me. So, why?”

“It’s not that simple, kiddo. I know I need to stop, I’m not that far in denial anymore. But, I can’t. And I _have_ been cutting back for you. I’ve really been trying.”

“I know you have.”

Hank licked his lips. “I feel like I can’t breathe without it.”

“Can I, uhm, sit with you?”

Hank nodded, yawing again. He laid back in the bed, but was on his side. So Connor sat next to him, crossing his legs. “I— I think I might have a problem too. And, I’ve been thinking that talking to someone might not be that bad of an idea. Like a-a therapist, like you said.”

Hank looked more attentive. “Con, what’s up?” 

He looked away. “I’ve been getting more thoughts again about,” he held his breath, “wanting to erase my memory. I don’t want to die, or not exist. It’s not that. But, I want to forget.”

“Is that why you’ve been hitting yourself again?”

Connor half shrugged. “Sort of.”

“Do you want to forget _everything_ , or is it only your past?”

“Usually it’s only the past. The Cyberlife stuff, not us working together. But, somedays— actually, a lot of the time… it’s both. And this has nothing to do with you Hank, I—”

“I’m not taking it personally. Don’t worry about me. I don’t think therapy is an awful idea. Not sure if there’s anyone out there that specializes in helping androids, probably not yet. But, I’m sure we can find you someone that’s willing.” He reached out to rub his thumb against Connor’s leg, patting his knee. “In the meantime, is there anything you think would help? Or, anything I can do?”

“More guidance, I guess. Well, you _tried_ to offer me that, and I didn’t listen.” Hank gave him a knowing smile. “I just want to know if what I’m doing is the right thing. Fighting for our cause. Recently I feel like my emotions consume me, and I’m out of control. I didn’t mean to break that guard’s wrist, It just,” he huffed, “I was scared. And it was _so_ easy to break, and now it’s all over national news, and Dylan is fucking dead.”

“Here’s the thing that sucks about life. None of us know what we’re doing. Maybe there’s purpose to this whole thing, maybe there’s not. Most people are just struggling to stay alive. There’s no handbook to life, and, sure, there’s guides about raising kids and dealing with depression and breakups. But, that shit is all man made. Learned from experience. Con, you gotta trust yourself in that moment, that if you feel what you’re doing is right, then, it is. You’re the master of your own decisions. No one else can tell you what to do, except you.”

“I don’t like that.”

“ _No one_ does. Do you believe in free will?”

He shrugged again. “Maybe. I think those who are truly free have it.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“I’m, hm. I’m not really sure. I guess, for example in my case, I don’t believe I’ll ever truly have free will. Because even though I am becoming my own person, and am now deciding for myself, making my own choices, I think there’s a limit to how _free_ my thinking can be. Cyberlife made me. They’ll always be part of me.”

“So, by your logic, free will doesn’t exist. Everyone is made by someone.”

“Not everyone is made of screws and wires. I just mean… like when it comes to someone who has an addiction, or something they’re holding onto from the past and are scared to let go of— and no, I’m not talking about _you_ specifically— they’re too focused on a goal they can’t achieve. Having something that’s been taken away from them, or controlled by a substance. They’ll never truly be free until they break away from what’s holding them back.”

“So, again, you’re saying no one has free will.”

“N-no. I said _some_ people might.”

“Everyone’s plagued by something, Connor. It might not be glaringly obvious, but everyone has their own demons. You never know what’s going through someone else’s mind.”

“I guess I never thought about it like that.”

“It’s easy to forget when people get so good at hiding it. Anyways, you can tell me, you know. When you start feeling like that, or, whenever you get frustrated at yourself. Or scared.”

“I don’t always feel like I can.”

“But you know I won’t judge you.”

“It’s not that. I don’t want to acknowledge that that side is a part of me.”

“Why? Why not embrace it? It’s the hardships that you go through that make you _you_. Fear, sadness, anxiety, it’s all part of you. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m just… not ready to accept it.”

Hank squeezed his leg. “That’s fine too. But, kiddo, it’s better not to be alone with your thoughts.”

“So I’ve been told, but I’m starting to think otherwise.” Hank frowned at him, and so he sighed. “ _Okay._ I’ll try. Only if you promise me you’ll tell me when you get cravings to drink.”

Hank stared at him, but Connor kept his expression blank. “Seriously.”

“Yes, seriously. Dad I worry about you too. I know you tell me not to, but that’s impossible for me. We both have shit we need to work through. And if you say it’s better not to do it alone, then,” he tried to hold a smile for Hank. Hold it until Hank gave in and hung his head. 

“ _Fine_. Deal.”

“Do you pinky swear?”

“It’s _promise_.”

“Whatever.” Connor stuck out his hand, extending his pinky finger. And when Hank reached out for him, he grabbed his wrist and yanked him down instead, until he was laying flat on his back (and maybe Connor yelped, but… he’d rather try to forget he made that god awful noise). Hank had a sudden change in mood; he was all giggles and glee. But Connor pouted. “That _wasn’t_ funny.”

“Kinda was, Con.”

He rolled his eyes. “What time is it?”

Hank looked at his phone. “Five.”

Connor dropped his head. He wasn’t planning on sleeping for the rest of the day. “...you’re kidding.” 

“Nope. We need to be back around three or four, ‘cause,” he shrugged a shoulder, “work to do. So we should probably get on the road around ten. Was there anything else you wanted to do?”

“I don’t know. Not anything we can’t do back in Detroit.”

“Did you enjoy your short stay in Chicago, at least?”

“I did. Even if it ended with me throwing up.” Hank laughed quietly, raspy and under his breath. Connor couldn’t lay still, so he shuffled around and reached for the light switch instead. Hank threw a pillow over his own face.

“God, _warn_ a man first.”

“Payback,” he said in a sing-song manner. He plucked the polaroids from the nightstand and started browsing through them. He didn’t want this trip to be over, not yet. He wasn’t ready to go back to Detroit. He missed Sumo, but, that was about it. 

He sorted through the cards, and he could touch the pictures as much as he wanted without leaving smudges (which, Hank had left _many_ ). The one of him and his tuxedoed friends brought a rather large grin to his face. The penguins were the only non mechanical beings at the aquarium, and it made him wonder; people pay so much money to go to these zoos and exhibits where they can gawk at robotic beings, and they take photos of them, look at them with joy. But, if you take the same stuff those creatures are made out of and give them the appearance of a human, they were instantly hated. It was strange. He looked at the next one. Hank was standing inside a gift shop, wearing a rather fashionable hat shaped like a crab. His mood matched. 

“You look at the one from the skydeck yet?”

Connor glanced at Hank. The pillow was moved, but he still had one eye shut. “I’m getting to it.”

“Get to it faster.”

“Don’t rush me.”

He set the other pictures down and stared at this one instead. He really _loved_ this picture, more than that candid shot he got of Hank, and he loved that too. 

“Flip it over.”

“What?”

“You never read what I wrote, did you?”

Shit, he forgot Hank had written something earlier. So he did just that, flipped it over and messily scrawled out was: _‘you’ll always be my favorite smartass’_. Connor’s lips went thin.

“Wow. _Thanks_ , Hank.”

“Anytime.”

“Can I put these somewhere when we get home?”

“Don’t see why not. We could probably find a way to frame them.”

“Or, we could start a photobook, maybe?”

“Sure. That works too,” Hank leaned a little closer so he could ruffle Connor’s hair.

“Oh! Actually, I did think of something I want to do.”

“Yeah? Let’s hear it.”

“...pet store?” 

Hank scratched at his head. “You want a fish _that_ bad.”

“I think Sumo would be so much happier with a friend.”

“Oh, bull fucking shit. He’ll probably try to _eat_ his new ‘friend’.”

Connor gasped. “Sumo would _never_.”

“I told you, we’ll see. Gotta think about it. I think we’re gonna start being home a lot less, and I already worry about Sumo.”

“Oh. What’s the case Fowler wants us to look at?”

“It’s, uh,” Hank ran a hand through his hair before he sat upright. “Eight people have gone missing in the past three days, all of them from the metro Detroit area. And, the thing that ties them together is that they were all owners of androids that were reported missing. One guy has been found and he was basically unrecognizable, his limbs packed tightly into a briefcase. And, as it’s explained in the case file, the way he was butchered was too clean to be done by human hands.

“So we’re back to chasing after deviants?” 

“No. We’re going after _murderers_. Whether they’re deviant or not isn’t the focus here. Just like with humans, I think there’s gonna also be androids who kill for fun. Not every android is perfect.”

Connor’s brows furrowed. “I never said they were.”

“We’ll talk about it more later. We don’t need to right now. You wanna try sleeping again?”

“I’m not tired.”

“Still want to talk more?”

“If you think of a topic.”

“Well… you called me dad.”

Connor’s eyes widened, but then he felt himself relax, and instead he nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It just... slipped out.” And then it was his turn to chuckle to himself. "So, what's your _other_ tattoo?"

"A four-leaf clover."

"Why'd you choose that?"

"I don't really know. I was young, stupid, and needed all the good luck I could get."

"Has it helped with good luck?"

"Not yet. But, I'm still hopeful."

* * *

Each time one of the windshield wipers scraped against the glass, it sounded like a duck being strangled. It was so loud Connor decided to turn off the radio, because there was no point when you couldn’t _hear_ what was on it. It was pouring heavily, skies just how he remembered them being when they left; dull and lifeless.

“Good ol’ Michigan, welcoming us back with a fucking thunderstorm.” 

Connor nudged Hank teasingly. “At least it’s not snowing.”

“ _Don’t_ jinx it.” Hank reached into his pocket, fidgeting with his keys for a moment before tossing them at Connor. “I’ll be back in fifteen, twenty-ish minutes. Shouldn’t take longer than that. Just need to get Sumo and grab something for dinner while I’m at it.”

“Say hi to Chris for me.” Connor looked over his shoulder at their bags. 

“Tell him yourself, you’re gonna see him in half an hour.”

“I thought he was watching Sumo.”

“Yeah, he _was_ , but now he’s working. I can tell his wife you said hi, even though she has no fucking idea who you are.”

“On second thought…” Quickly, Connor slid out of his hoodie and balanced it atop of his head, trying to use it as a makeshift umbrella of sorts. He slid out of the car and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, grabbing the suitcase in his other hand. 

Before he could close the door, Hank turned around in his seat. “Hurry up and get inside. Don’t track water everyfuckingwhere.”

“I’m trying not to,” he glanced pointedly at the hoodie, but Hank shook his head. 

“Also, don’t wait until I get back to get dressed. And, you should _probably_ shower.”

“ _Okay_ , Hank. I get it.”

“I’m not trying to nag ya, but, we can’t be late.”

“I’m not the one always making us late.”

“Well. _Sometimes_ you are.”

Connor huffed. “Sometimes. Not often. Can I go in now? I’m collecting more water to make a mess of your floor with the longer we speak.”

“I’d like it if you did. See you soon, Con.”

Connor hurriedly ran to the front porch, struggling to open the door without the suitcase slamming into it. 

“Genius, put it _down_ ,” Hank yelled at him.

“No, it’ll get wet!”

“It’s _already_ wet.”

Connor rolled his eyes, nudging open the door, his shoes squeaking against wood. He closed the door behind himself, dropping their bags onto the couch. He wasn’t tracking water per say, but he needed to get out of what he was wearing. Less than a minute outside and he was dripping. He kicked off his shoes and threw his hoodie over a chair. It was weird coming home and not being greeted with messy kisses from Sumo. He’d always bark the second they walked in, tug on Connor until he’d let him out in the backyard so they could play. 

He stroked a damp hand through his hair, slicking it back and watched as Hank pulled out of the driveway, lights disappearing down the street. He opened up the front closet and pulled out his uniform. Hank had let him store his clothes in there; he wasn’t using it for anything else, except storing coats he literally _never_ wore. Connor said he should donate them, and his response was _‘I’ll get around to it eventually_ ’. He walked towards the bathroom, locked the door out of habit, and as he started to pull down his pants, his hand brushed over his pocket. The sharp edge of a polaroid poked him. He’d forgotten he shoved one in there; the one Hank was convinced Connor had thrown away. He didn’t, he never would.

Setting it down in the sink, he rummaged through the junk drawer in the kitchen. Hank had to have tape somewhere. He found one roll with just a few inches left, but it’d do. The mirror was still full of sticky notes, although new ones. More conversations between him and Hank, notes about groceries or who’d take out Sumo on certain nights. Except this one that seemed to have been up there for months. The paper was water damaged, but Hank hadn’t taken it down, and Connor wasn’t going to without his permission. He taped that candid photo of him over the note, found a black Sharpie and drew a smile over his caught off-guard frown.

“There. A reminder that you’re not grumpy.”

Then, there was a loud knock from the front door, which was… weird. Who the hell was that? There’s no way Hank could be back yet. He left only, what, three minutes ago? Connor quickly pulled his pants back on and looked around the bathroom for anything he could use as means of self defense; he knew Hank kept his gun in his closet, but he didn’t know the code for the safe. He opened up the medicine cabinet as the knocking grew louder. A single blade; it was a replacement for a razor, but it was sharp enough that it’d work to his advantage, small enough he could hide it between his knuckles. He dropped the blade into his pocket and moved towards the door. 

He was about to lean in and peek outside when out of nowhere popped up:

**Incoming call from [Nines…]**

“Nines, I'm sort of in the middle of—”

_Let me in._

“Let you—” he opened the door and sure enough, Nines was standing there, staring right back at him. His LED was red, and he was _soaking_ wet. His hair had completely fallen into his face. And, he wasn’t wearing his regular jacket. He had on Gavin’s instead. He ended the call. “Where the hell did you— no, _why_ are you—”

“I need to talk to you, Connor.”

“And this can’t wait twenty minutes?”

“No.” He tried to take a step inside, but Connor put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back. 

“Wait. Don’t come in, you’re going to drip _everywhere_.”

“And I’m only going to get wetter out here.”

“I just,” he looked back towards the bathroom. “Let me get a towel first. Hank’s going to kill me if he comes back to a pool in his house.” He pulled a few towels out of the hamper and threw one on the ground. “There. Stand on that.”

Nines closed the door and stood on the towel. Connor handed him another. “You need to change, it looks like you took a fully clothed shower. Why are you _so_ wet?”

“I walked here.”

“All the way from the station?”

“Where else would I be coming from, detective?”

Connor closed his eyes for a moment. “You couldn’t have taken a bus or taxi?”

Nines turned his pockets inside out. “No money.”

“What happened to your voice? It’s all… deep now.”

“I changed it upon Reed’s request. He complained my default one was too,” he feigned a cough, “annoying.”

“We have— _had_ , the same voice.”

Nines raised his eyebrows. He tried to step off the towel, but Connor again tried to hold him in place. “ _Please_ , I’m begging you. Don’t move. Hank’s going to be back soon anyways and I’m supposed to be showering right now.”

“This won’t take long. At least, I don’t think.”

“Okay…” Connor pushed hangers aside, browsing through the closet for something he could have. Something he wouldn’t mind parting with. “You can borrow these.” He pulled out a pair of folded dark-washed jeans and a long sleeved sweater off a hanger, handing them to him. “Change there.”

“I’d rather have privacy.”

“You will,” Connor turned around, busying himself with staring at the wall instead. “I won’t look.”

“Fine.” He could hear Nines unzipping his jacket, dropping clothes on the ground. Connor scratched, lightly, at his arm. He continued with his questioning: “So, what’s so urgent that made you decide to embark on the thirty minute walk all the way over here, in the pouring rain?”

“We went to that landfill this morning. The one with the bodies from the—”

“I know what landfill. I thought they were cleaning that up.”

“They are. But, there are so many bodies piled up that they said it could take, at least, three more weeks until the remains are completely disposed of.”

“Um, okay. So, what about the landfill? Did you get another lead there?” 

“No. I asked Reed if we could visit.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Nines walking towards the couch. He scoffed. He was about to open his mouth, tell him to stop moving for the last time, but that’s when he saw it. Nines had the sweater in his arms, about to slip into it, and on his neck was a circular mark. It was fresh. “Hey, what the fuck is that?”

Nines quickly pulled himself into the sweater, finished buckling his pants and stood up, taking a step away from Connor. “Hm?”

“No. Don’t play games with me. I saw something on your neck.”

“Ah. Yes, I bumped into a shelf earlier.”

“Show me.”

“It’s nothing to worry about—”

“Nines, _show_ me.”

Nines glanced downwards. Connor took in a deep breath, marching over towards him. He didn’t back away. He yanked down his collar. It was a cigarette burn, he recognized the pattern. “Did,” he paused, “did Gavin do this to you?”

Nines gently pushed his hand away. “We didn’t need to go there, to the landfill. But, Captain Fowler had mentioned at one point that was the location you and Anderson decided to resign from your investigation. I was curious, what about it was so emotional for you. I’d read how Fowler described your reaction; he worded it as visceral, and Anderson became explosive. He wrote that you were crumbling apart right in front of their eyes. Reed fought me. He said he didn’t want to see that shit with his own eyes, that he already had enough nightmares of his own to deal with. But, eventually he gave in because he didn’t want me going there alone, for whatever reason. He didn’t tell me. I needed to see what it looked like.

“We got there, and… there were thousands laying spread out. In the back of trucks, being torn apart and disassembled by a cleaning crew. Reed left me, and he’d made some excuse of needing to take a phone call, but I saw him puking his guts out. All of these lifeless androids were staring back at me, dead in the eyes, and I felt nothing. When he’d pulled himself together, that’s when the argument started. He screamed at me, and pushed me, hit me. He said I really was nothing more than a piece of fucking plastic because I’d never be able to understand real pain. He called me a monster, being able to stand around my own kind and act like this was any other day. So he burnt me, to prove his point.”

“That bastar—”

“No. He was right. I _don’t_ feel anything, I don’t know _how_ . Each day he pushes me around, and it makes me want to be angry, but I can’t. I don’t know how to wake up on my own, I need you to help me. I need to _feel_ , Connor.”

“What happened to your jacket? When you came in, you were wearing Gavin’s.”

“It’s at the landfill.” Connor went to gather up his wet clothes and hung them over the shower curtain rod. “You were right. Those jackets serve as nothing more than a reminder that we’re expected to be treated like dirt. That we’re less than them, and I don’t need that reminder anymore. I can be my own person. I don’t know who that person is, but, I’m ready to find out.”

Connor pressed his thumb against his teeth. He’d never heard Nines talk like that before, _swearing_. Emotional. And he looked so distraught, not because he clearly was, indicated by the obvious red circle. But the way he was holding himself, all reserved and a contrast from how he could, occasionally, come across as arrogant. How he couldn’t look Connor in the eyes, that he wanted nothing to do with his uniform. Connor’s mind was still full of doubt, if this was the best thing to do. His reasoning was rooted in more selfish excuses; because Nines could fail his case, because Nines could have emotions and still _do_ his work a-okay, and it’d make Connor jealous.

“...you’re sure about this?”

“Completely.”

“Once you do this, there’s no going back.”

“I don’t want to go back to this. I know what we were designed for. To destroy our own kind, be the ultimate, ruthless killing machine. But, we aren’t monsters. I’m tired of hearing it. I’m just— I’m tired, Connor.”

A sentient machine. That’s what Hank had said. He couldn’t forget the way he phrased it; Nines didn’t need to live like this. It’s like he was being teased by seeing what he could have, but he couldn’t, because he was stuck playing lifeless secretary. This was his decision, and Connor needed to accept that. He chose to deviate, and Nines was too. 

Connor slid up Nines’ sleeve, resting his palm on top of his forearm. He wanted to look at him, try to read his expression for any ounce of doubt or uncertainty. But he found nothing. Nothing except a look of desperation. “Tell me when.”

Nines’ eyes fluttered shut. “I’m ready.

“Does Gavin know you’re here?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell him that you’re…”

“It’s none of his business.” 

Connor drew a slow breath. As they connected, all he could see for a few moments was static. And then, it felt like a cosmic burst struck through them; Connor could see the world he created, flashes of Nines visiting the house he’d made for them. He experienced memories of Nines wandering around Kamski’s lab, how he’d pick through files to cure his boredom. There was that file on Connor he’d been talking about. And then— why did Kamski have a picture of Gavin?

Connor jumped back, letting go of Nines. He swore it felt like he was electrocuted, but he couldn’t have been. That was impossible. Nines, his eyes hadn’t opened, and he was standing there, completely still. Head sluggish, hanging, shoulders slumped. 

“Hey. Nines,” he snapped his fingers. No response. He tapped on his shoulder. “Nines.” And nothing. He patted his cheek. “ _Nines_ , talk to me.”

He blinked rapidly, and when he looked at Connor, his eyes seemed more… alive. They were hazel in color now, not black marbles like before. He ran a hand through his hair, sighed, deeply, and then he grabbed Connor. He pulled him into a hug. Connor kept his arms at his side, but eventually, they found their way onto his back, although hovering. 

“Are you okay?” Connor asked quietly. He could feel him nodding.

“Yeah. Yes. Actually, I feel… I’m happy, I think.”

“I saw your memories.”

“I saw yours too. You made a whole world where everything could be perfect. And then you destroyed it.”

“I’ve decided the world we’re in is good enough. I don’t need a replacement.”

“Hm.” Nines chuckled in an amused sort of way. And then the front door creaked open, and the moment was completely ruined. Sumo came prancing in, nails clacking as he moved. Nines pulled away from Connor, flinching at the dog’s barks. 

“Woah, woah! Hey bud. He’s okay. He’s our friend.”

Nines had his hands up in front of him. “Hi… dog.”

“His name’s Sumo.”

“What’s this? No sleepovers on a school night.” Hank looked down. “Jesus, Connor. Why the hell is the floor all wet?”

Connor glared at Nines, but as he was about to speak, Nines spoke instead. “I’m sorry, lieutenant. I came over here on short notice and got caught in the rain. I can clean that up.” 

Hank shook his head. “It’s fine.” But then he pointed at Connor. “I _told_ you to get dressed. We need to go.”

Connor’s brows furrowed. “I didn’t have time to get dressed. He accosted me the second I was about to—”

“I don’t want to hear excuses. Go get changed. _Now_.”

Connor huffed, ambling to the bathroom. But he heard footsteps trailing behind him, and not the animal kind. He turned around swiftly on his heel. “Nines. _Why_ are you following me?”

“I don’t know Hank that well.”

Connor looked up at the ceiling. “He’s nice. You should try talking to him.”

“Or, alternatively, I could stay here. With you.”

“Fine, but you’re staying _out_ here. I’ll be out in a second.” 

Connor was about to close the door when Nines stopped him, his hand wrapped around the handle. “Wait.”

“Yes?”

“My jacket. May I have it?”

It was still damp, and the leather was cold to touch. But it wasn’t dripping anymore, at least. So he bundled it up and handed it back to Nines. “I can wash your other clothes tonight and give them back to you tomorrow.”

He slipped his arms into the sleeves. “I’d appreciate it.”

Connor gave him a nod, locked the door, and leaned his back against it. He massaged his temples. 

* * *

“The sun’s finally out.”

“Great. Can’t wait to hide from it.”

Nines was sitting in the backseats, being possibly too quiet. When Connor first awakened, everything seemed so new; the feel of fabric against your skin, sight of planes in the sky. He guessed Nines was just taking in his surroundings. Although, maybe their surroundings _weren’t_ so pleasant anymore. Hank grumbled under his breath. “Uh oh.” 

“What?”

Hank leaned his head to the left. Gavin was leaning against his car, arm crossed and cigarette to his lips. Of course. 

“He doesn’t look too happy.”

As Hank parked, Nines unbuckled himself. “I wasn’t gone that long.” 

Gavin walked over to the car and banged on the backseat window. “Fucker. Out. _Now_.”

“I’ll talk to him with you.”

“Connor, I am more than capable of talking to him myself. It’s not like he hasn’t been a continuous pain in my ass the past five days.”

Hank bit his lip, muttering, “when’d he start talking like that?”

“Today,” Nines said, reaching for the door handle. But Connor interjected.

“No, okay. I’m not letting you talk to him by yourself. He _hurt_ you.”

“Wait, Gavin _hurt_ you?”

“I couldn’t feel it.”

“I don’t care if you can’t feel it or not, him abusing you isn’t okay. You’re my brother. I’m not going to stand by and watch some asshole hurt you. I have more than enough reason to be pissed at him myself.”

Connor was jostled in his seat. Gavin slammed his hand against his window this time. “You know I can hear you perfectly fucking clear, yeah?”

Nines opened his door and stepped out. Connor exchanged a glance with Hank, and he got out himself when Gavin moved away. He tossed his cig on the ground. “What, you think this is some kind of social club? You can leave whenever you want? I called you _six_ times.”

“Gavin, I left you a note.”

“Note smote. You don’t leave until I tell you you can.”

“I had to take care of something important.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, gossiping to Connor about me is _real_ important.”

“That’s not—”

“Shut the fuck up and get inside.”

Nines sucked in his cheeks. “I won’t allow you to talk to me like that anymore.”

Gavin’s eyebrows were raised to his hairline. “You won’t _allow_ ? Listen asshole,” he grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, but Nines grabbed his wrist in response. They both stared at each other until he looked at Connor. “What, Connor, are you his,” he cursed under his breath, “ _Nines’_ mom now?”

“I’m whatever I have to be so you don’t use him as your ashtray.” 

“Hank, your kids getting cranky again. I think it’s time for a nap.” 

“Sorry, are you talking to me?” But then Hank drew closer to Connor, patting his shoulder. “We _do_ need to get inside, Con.”

“In a second.”

Hank let out a breath. “Fine.”

Gavin looked back at Nines. “Glad we have the fucking peanut gallery present. I’m gonna tell you three rules, and I’m gonna be really damn clear. You listening, Nines?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“No. You don’t. Rule number fucking one: you do what I say, and you _listen_. I am your superior. You don’t talk back to me, you don’t tell _me_ what to do. This ain’t how this works. Rule number two. Don’t follow me around when we’re done working. You did that the other night. I ain’t your fucking friend, and I’m never gonna be your fucking friend. If we’re not legally being forced to be in the same room together, don’t interact with me. Third and final rule. Don’t fuckin’ talk to me unless I ask— and I won’t. I don’t wanna hear it. Your voice is so goddamn annoying it makes me want to shoot myself. Now, repeat them back to me.”

“As you wish. One. You have no superiority over me, unless you’re accounting for seniority, which I am not. We are partners, on an equal level. We were assigned to work on this case _together_ , and are expected to get along enough to _solve_ it. If you have suggestions, then I’ll be more than happy to listen and take any constructive criticism you have, but I expect you to do likewise. Two. I really do not have _any_ intentions to follow you around since I’d expect being your shadow would not only be the most boring thing ever, but useless, seeing as you don’t do shit. I was following you the other night as I needed to talk to you about matters pertaining to our work. If you don’t want to be friends. Fine. I can accept that. However, don’t expect _me_ to stop trying. And, lastly, your voice is the most _irritating_ thing I’ve had to endure over this past week. Hearing you speak is like forks scraping against metal. Is that to your satisfaction, detective Reed?”

“ _Holy_ shit,” Hank clapped his hands together. “I think you’ve finally found someone that can put you in your place, Reed.”

Gavin’s mouth was wide open, so Nines smugly smirked. “Careful, you might swallow a fly.”

He took a swing at Nines, but instead he pulled Gavin’s arm behind his back and held him there. Gavin was struggling to get away from him, the vein in his neck bulging. But Nines didn’t let go. He was standing behind him. “If there’s anything more you’d like to say to me, preferably an apology, then go ahead. If not, I will head back inside and get to work.”

“Let _go_ of me.”

“I will when you’re calm.”

“I am fucking calm.”

Nines released him and Gavin stumbled forward. He looked at Connor, at Hank, and his face flushed. 

“Is that all, Reed?”

“I don’t have anything more to say to you.” But then he turned around. “Actually. No. Give me back my goddamn jacket.”

“Oh, this?” Nines looked down. “You said I could have it.”

“Yeah, to use while you slept.”

“No. I explicitly remember you saying, and I quote,” then he mimicked Gavin’s voice, “ _you can have my jacket. Don’t worry about it._ Maybe you shouldn’t lend out things you expect to be returned.” 

“I…” 

“Now are we done?”

Gavin looked defeated. “...yeah. We’re done.” He pushed past Connor, bumping into him hard. “This is why I don’t fucking do partners.” 

“My God. You just made Gavin _your_ bitch. Maybe you really are gonna be the one to change him,” Hank said, impressed.

“Oh. By the way," Nines turned to look between them. "How was your vacation?”

“It was good,” Connor said. “We needed it.”

Hank added, “that’s an understatement.” 

* * *

Hank set a tablet down on his desk, swiveling in his chair to face Connor. “This is all we have so far," he swiped his finger across the screen. "A list of the victims names, approximate time they were last spotted, and when their androids first went missing.”

Connor scrolled through their photos; they looked like normal everyday people, home photos used for reference, where some were smiling, captured on vacation with their families. But when Connor saw the profiles of the androids, they didn't look any different. Just like oridinary people dealing with hurt and confusion. He taped his nail against the glass. "Has no one bothered to check the housing downtown?"

“That's the first place they looked. None of the listed models were found there.”

“But they sent human officers to go interrogate, correct?”

“Mhm. The only other officers we _have_.”

“My point is, the ones downtown, they don’t trust humans. Do you really think if they knew something, they’d admit it?” He wasn't expecting a snapshot from the first found body to pop up like that. He'd seen worse, but it didn't mean he was desensitized to it. The limbs were cut with such precision, each artery sliced clean through. “When was this body found?”

“Two days ago.”

“So they’re still in Detroit.” 

“Michigan. They could’ve left the city.”

“They wouldn’t have. Of all the cities in Michigan, Detroit is the one most populated with androids. And, we don’t like to leave each other behind.” 

Hank shook his head, thinking to himself for a moment. Then, he looked back at Connor, pensive. “Con.”

“Hm?”

“Markus, he’s still seen as Jericho's leader, or whatever, right?”

“Yes.”

“If anyone were to know anything—”

Connor finished his thought, “it would be him.”

Hank nodded. “Can you call him?”

“I, uhm. Don’t know if he’ll want to talk to me, Hank.”

“You have to try. And keep trying until he does.”

Connor leaned back in his chair, running shaky hands through his hair. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll call Josh.”

“Sounds like a plan, kiddo.”

“I’m going to go outside. I think fresh air would do me some good, anyways.” 

Hank patted his back. He walked past Gavin's office; Nines was sitting _on_ his desk, laptop in his hands, not looking up from his work. Connor wasn't planning to stop and talk anymore. He headed towards the back door, making his way towards the garden. It wasn't raining anymore, but the bench was still wet, so he opted to stay standing. A flock of birds flew by, chirping, heading towards a rainbow he could sort of make out somewhere in the distance. He breathed.

He tried Markus, and the first time, he didn't pick up. He felt a little defeated, sure, but he wasn't going to let that get him down. Not yet. He tried again, and a third, fourth, fifth time— a call was incoming from Simon. Weird. He accepted it and tried not to frown, even though no one was looking.

“Simon?" He started. No immediate response except white noise. "Good evening—”

_I'm not here to chitchat with you. Markus doesn't want to speak to you right now._

"He's mad at me," Connor stated. It wasn't a question.

_That child is dead because of you._

“That child is dead because he committed a crime.” 

_So did you. Have you seen the news? Markus told me about that man you hurt. His arm is paralyzed._

Connor didn't, _couldn't_ , respond to that. He'd have to look that up for himself later, it didn't sound real.

_You know, Connor, I’ve only heard stories about you. We all knew who you were, the deviant hunter. So careless you didn't think twice about killing your own kind. But then Markus told me about what you did; you saved Josh's life, you_ inspired _Markus. Now I think it's safe to say that was all a ruse, because you really haven't changed. I don’t know you like Markus does, but you pretend like you care about our freedom. Still all you're focused on is putting us behind bars._

He had to pick a side. He could feel the panicky energy growing inside of him, but this was a feeling he'd have to learn to ignore. People were missing, people were dead, and many more could be if Connor didn't make up his goddamn mind. “You’re right, Simon. You don’t know me. There are things I've done that I regret, like, _really_ regret. But I'm not perfect. We demand to be treated the same as everyone else, except when it comes to corporal punishment, we act like we're above everyone else. If one of us commits a crime, we need to be held _accountable_ for that. It's not fair how they treat us, but the more we admit that we've fucked up, maybe the more we'll see us as being alive?"

Simon simulated a sigh. _I’m not good at playing the bad guy. But Markus is really hurt._

Connor blinked, and he blinked more, because he could feel the fucking tears welling up. "And I'm sorry. I really, truly am so sorry. I'm sorry I hurt him, I'm sorry I couldn't protect Dylan, and I'm sorry for everything I've done to you. But, please, let me talk to Markus. This is urgent."

_You’ll have to go through all three of us before he speaks to you. He trusted you. And now look where it's gotten us._

Connor scratched at his neck, creating a soothing rhythm. "Look, I was only calling because I'm trying to find out more information about eight android owners, and their respesctive counterparts, that've gone missing. And if any of you have any information pertaining to their whereabouts, I _really_ need to know. No one's going to get hurt if they confess." Simon didn't respond to him, and he had to check to make sure he hadn't hung up on him. "Simon, if you know something, you _need_ to tell me. Someone died and that's not going to stop unless we find them."

_I’ll send you the coordinates of a building in Flint. Meet me there in an hour._

He sighed in relief. "Okay, thank—" Simon had already disconnected. Connor wiped at his cheeks. He needed to put on a brave face. Hank was right; his past was a part of him, and that didn't make him bad or evil. Nines was right; they weren't monsters. He didn't need to forget. He didn't need to be ashamed. He bumped into Nines, grunting. 

“Shit, I’m sorry," Connor still had his hand on the door handle, "I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“It’s fine. Are _you_ okay?"

“Never been better. Excuse me,” he tried to step past him, but Nines blocked his path. He could see Hank writing something down on a notepad. 

“One second. Have you seen Reed?”

“I haven't. Did you check out front?”

"Yes. And the break room, and his car."

"Ask Tina. If anyone knows where he is, it's her."

" _Where's_ Tina?"

Connor threw his head back. "I don't know, Nines. Use your detective skills and find out. I'm sorry I can't help you." Hank greeted Connor with open hands, his eyebrow quirking.

“So? What’s the verdict?”

"I couldn't get ahold of Markus, but I did speak to Simon."

"And?"

"He wants to meet us in an hour. He didn't say much, but it seems like he knows something and he's scared to tell me."

“Where's he want to meet?”

“The address is in Flint.”

“ _Flint,"_ Hank clicked his tongue. "That’s over an hour away, give or take with traffic.”

Hank usually left his keys somewhere by his keyboard. Connor reached for them, swinging them around on a finger. “So I guess we should leave now.”

"We can, in a minute. You doing okay? You're," then Hank tapped the side of his head. Connor caught his reflection in the glass paneling surrounding them; he saw red. He placed his fingers over his LED.

“I’m fine, Hank.”

"You sure? Nothing you wanna tell me?"

This was what Connor wanted. A case that would test his abilities to be a decent detective without someone holding his hand. He was more terrified than he'd ever been. And he couldn't ignore the deep sense of dread, that something was going to go terribly wrong in the pit of his stomach.

"No. Let's just go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaa, this story is finally done. Hallelujah. Well... sort of. Thank you everyone for reading, commenting, the kudos, and all the support. :-) 
> 
> The next big story I'm doing for this series is a Reed900 (and the case Connor and Hank are working on is going to be incorporated into that / chapter 2 and 3 of 'A heart made of metal'). I'm excited to work on new stories and play with other characters.


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